I Am What You Made Me
by ox-dancindarlin-xo
Summary: When the war closes to an end, and Hermione is the only survivor left, she gains help of something so dear, and escapes Voldemort's wrath. But when she tries to make things better for the future she will never know, things don't quite go to plan...
1. Turn It Only Once

_**Forever is over,  
And my heart's not gonna break**_  
_**Forever is over,  
And I'm no longer afraid  
'Cause if I don't get out now  
I may never escape  
Your power is fading away,  
And I'm getting closer  
To the place I belong,  
Forever is over  
Over, over, over, over...**_

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline. Song lyrics by The Saturdays (Forever is Over) ©**

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Death.

Hermione was sick of it. Sick of seeing it wherever she turned, sick of hearing it happen right next door to her. Sick of people hooting and cheering as the people die, sick of everything what this world had become.

Sick of death and destruction itself.

How many more lives must be lost until they stop? How much more blood must be spilt before there is no more to drip? How many more innocent lives must they take and twist into something beyond repair until they stop bending.

How long had it been since she had last eaten? How long had it been since she saw the light of day? Felt the warm rays beating down on her face. How long had it been since she washed?

How long had it been since they had thrown her in this cell?

Time seemed to be lost in that dungeon. You didn't know when it was day; you didn't know when it was night. You can sit there and starve to the brink of death and just be given enough food to survive another week. No water was ever sent up, and your throat became dead of use except for screaming.

Every part of you ached. From your head to your toes. Some days, the pain was so bad you couldn't even stand without help.

Ron and Harry were in there with her.

Harry had been tortured the most. Tortured for information they didn't have. For there was nothing more to tell. The Order had all been destroyed, everyone had been killed except them. Some days Harry would return to them unconscious, and Ron would have to slap him on the face until he woke up.

Hermione would tend to his wounds and sit and cradle him until he fell asleep.

Ron would sit across the room, engraving another line in the tally chart they had scraped into the wall, counting the days they had been there. But it seemed much more than what was marked out.

He would sigh, and sit against the wall with his head leant back against it, and close his eyes. For what was relief or pain or just merely resting, Hermione did not know.

Without wands, life was like Medieval times. She had thought about this many times, but never spoken a word of it, because Harry and Ron would not know what it meant.

Mr and Mrs Weasley had died. So had the twins, and Bill and Charlie and Percy and even Ginny.

Fred and George had died together, standing as a sacrifice to save their little sister. They laughed in the faces of the death eaters before the deadly flash of green life took them together. Ginny had tried to tell them to run away with her, but they wouldn't. She tried hexing the Death Eaters about to kill them but they were too quick for her and she lost her wand. Once Fred and George had died, that was it. She was fresh meat. She died backed up against a corner with multiple broken bones and screaming. The tear tracks were still there and dry when her body had been found.

Charlie had died proudly. He had died fighting. He'd always wanted that. He had cast his dragon Patronus over the heads of the death eaters, and its roar of fire had singed them. But his one last spell had been too late, as he fell to the floor, and his dragon Patronus flew away, cawing a sad cry for his master.

Percy had died in the Ministry of Magic. He was among the first to die, along with Fudge. The whole building was destroyed, and his body was mangled from the rubble. It was hard to tell whether a killing curse had gotten him or it was the collapsing building that had killed him.

Bill died instantly. In his cottage. He was packing things away to go and live in the Muggle word with Fleur, and their little girl. He wasn't even aware of them outside. All it took was one to come up to the window and cast the spell. Bill died before he had finished packing. Fleur had already taken their daughter to Italy, though. And they were safe there, as far as they knew. There was no one on the outside to tell them, to save them. For Harry was the hero and he was inside that cell. With them.

Mr and Mrs Weasley had died in each other's arms. Strong and proud, they didn't even scream. They lived together and died together, and Ron was proud to call them is mother and father.

It was quite daunting for him, really... To be the last Weasley. He had always been surrounded by siblings and family, and this was too much. A overpowering, haunting shadow of loneliness looming over his head.

And no matter how many stolen kisses it took from Hermione to make him feel a little better. His whole family was dead. And he knew he would be soon, too.

He wouldn't die proudly like his Mum and Dad. He wouldn't die laughing like Fred and George. He would die screaming of torture, before the sweet release of death.

They never talked these days.

It was bad enough for Harry to be tortured day-in-day-out. But after loosing Ginny he just sort of plummeted. His whole world fell apart. She was all he had after his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore went to the hands of the Death Eaters, or Voldemort himself.

Hermione was thankful she was a Muggle-born. Her parents were somewhere in the Muggle world, safe and unbothered.

Well, not entirely unbothered. Their daughter was gone, and locked up in a chamber, about to die any day now, and they didn't even know it.

But she had told them to undergo a fake name, leave and pretend to be a newly-wed couple. She didn't expect the Death Eaters to go looking for them. Or even recognise them.

So Hermione shuffled herself back against the wall, and wallowed. Letting only a few tears slip before she pulled herself together and blocked out the sounds of Harry screaming.

Hadn't they tortured him enough? Didn't they know there was nothing more to tell them? Nothing more at all!

Ron sat next to her, tears escaping his eyelashes, too, and he snuggled up against her and took her in his arms.

They had planned to be together some day.

To have their own cottage, and their own children running around, playing. Red-head girls with chestnut eyes, and brown-haired boys with piercing green eyes. A part of her and a part of Ron to snuggle up with in bed every night.

But that was all gone now, and the only thing they could look forward to was to maybe die in less pain than they were in now. And they knew half of that pain, was from their hearts.

They heard Harry's screaming stop, and they feared the worst. It was shortly followed by a flash of dreaded green light, and yells of joy from the murderers. Hermione stifled a cry into Ron's chest, and the tears ran freely. She knew now, that this was the last time she would hold him, feel him. Just generally be with him. She clutched onto his shirt tightly, but it was no use. They dragged him up and practically threw him into the next room. His screaming quickly began and then came the awful green light, and the howls of delight as the last Weasley died.

She had been kept until last, and she daren't think why.

Snape's bellowing, harsh voice came from the next room like a ringing in her ears, "If you'll excuse me, gentleman, I'll take care of this one." Then more laughter came, and Hermione shut her eyes tight as the sound of heavy footsteps came closer and closer until they came at a halt at Hermione's form. The hot tears on her cheeks began to burn as the new cold ones spilled out, and she hugged her knees to her chest so tightly she was finding it hard to breathe.

What was Snape doing? Wasn't he supposed to be on their side? On Dumbledore's side? On the _good_ side?? How could he stoop so low as to do this?

But instead of the large hands swooping down and clutching her, she felt his breath at her ear, and she knew his whispers were only for her to hear.

"Turn it only once." He said, with a warning edge to his tone. Hermione didn't understand what he was saying, and felt his cold hands grasp hers. Her eyes shot open, and she saw him knelt down in front of her, his head down so that his greasy hair was covering his face. He placed something small and metal into her palm, before winking at her, and gently pulling her up.

Then he had to put on the act of dragging her to the room, and in front of those dreaded red eyes that belonged to the devil himself.

"I thought you might like this one, my Lord." Snape said, droning on as if it was the most boring thing in the world. "After all, she _is_ the last of the Golden Trio."

Hermione couldn't bring herself to laugh, or even smirk, as she was still trying to feel what was in her hand without anyone seeing.

Voldemort smirked at her, his snake-like nostrils flaring, showing all his perfect, white teeth.

"That's very considerate of you, Snape." He said, not taking his eyes off Hermione. She began to feel her palms getting damp. If only she could figure out what was in her hand quicker.

_Turn it only once..._

Voldemort chuckled, and smirked even more. Now it was beginning to look like an actual smile. But that was almost impossible for Voldemort.

He sort of bowed, hunching his back a little to bend down to Hermione's height, and raised his arms as a so-sue-me gesture. His long white wand, that had taken the lives of millions, was displayed proudly in his right hand. It made Hermione's heart thump harder than it already was, and she was sure they could see her ribcage smashing in her chest.

"I win," Voldemort breathed, almost as excited as a little child in a sweet shop. It was obvious he had been longing to say those words for a very long time.

Hermione clutched the thing in her palm, and smirked back at Voldemort, whose own smirk did not faulter.

"Not yet," And with a jerk of her navel, the Time Turner spun, and she soared through time.

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_N/A: Hey. :D So how's that so far, huh? ;)_

_I realise there are going to be some mistakes in this (mostly Grammar, eeee!) with other things through time. But I'm sure they won't be totally major._

_Please understand that I haven't even finished planning this story, yet, and I tend to go off track a little when writing. But I hope you liked this chapter – as short as it was!_

_Kelly xxx_

_PS, Review please! :)_


	2. The Exploding Girl

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

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Hermione landed with a thump very painfully into a set of bushes just outside Hogwarts Castle.

"Damnit!" She cursed, stumbling to stand up, her arms getting scratched by the twigs and thorns.

She heard a small yelp from behind her and she realised it was a person. She could have swore at them, but she held her tongue and brushed herself down.

She then heard the one voice she was longing to hear, "What is it, Mr Boggs?" In spite of everything, Hermione still choked out a chuckle. It sounded so strange to be coming from her lips after such a long time of disuse.

"T-There! Behind the bushes!" The boy stuttered, and she heard some rustling as someone tried to get closer.

She turned and stepped out, only to come face-to-face with Professor Dumbledore.

A very younger looking Dumbledore, at that. But the blue sparkle in his eyes was still there, and her heart practically leapt from her chest, of joy.

She beamed at him, restricting the urge to jump up and give him a huge hug. He was _there_! Really there! Standing there looking at her!

"Professor." She greeted, formally.

Dumbledore just looked confused. "You know me?"

Hermione chuckled again, and found it was easier to release this time. "Who doesn't?"

Dumbledore's modest and embarrassed grin stretched across his lips and Hermione's heart swelled with affection for the old man. Well... young, here. But old as she knew him.

Her smile faltered and she turned very serious. "Sir, what year is it?"

Dumbledore's look of bewilderment came back, and he fiddled with the glasses resting on his crooked nose. "I think you may have hit your head. What on earth were you doing in the bushes? I think you should come see Professor Dippet–,"

"No!" Hermione interrupted, rudely. The anxiety began rising in her chest like boiling water. "I want to talk to _you_!"

Dumbledore started to interject again, but Hermione cut him off.

"I _need _to talk to you! In private." She demanded, through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore then only noticed the state Hermione was in. Her clothes were torn in several different places; her skin was dry, sore and bleeding, her hair was matted and pitted in blood, sweat and dirt, she had no wand in her hand and no shoes on her feet. He could not let it be said that he had lost his manners. He quickly gestured the mysterious girl to the castle and ushered her along.

"Yes, yes, of course, miss..?"

"Hermione," Hermione began, sadly, letting Dumbledore gently guide her through the gates to the castle. "Hermione Granger."

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Once Hermione had been given proper service, such as some robes, been allowed to wash up, food and drink, she and Dumbledore were prepared to talk. It cannot be said that Headmaster Dippet did not take offence at this, but Dumbledore insisted that they follow Hermione's wishes, as she has clearly been in distraught and may not be of constant mind. Professor Dippet had scanned Hermione then, and she had smiled sweetly, and he hastily agreed with Dumbledore and left them to talk in peace.

"So," Dumbledore said, sitting down on the chair in front of Hermione, "Are you going to tell me how you suddenly appeared in the bushes outside the grounds?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir. I think I am."

And it took her just over ten minutes to explain. To explain everything. Everything from Ron and Harry – The Boy Who Lived – to when Snape gave her the Time Turner and that she is really from the future to make things right for the whole human race. Dumbledore listened intently, never interrupting, nodding and humming approval sounds in all the right places. And he didn't seem to think it strange for one second that a seventeen-year-old girl could carry the weight of the world on her shoulders the way Hermione was.

"So, that's everything, sir," Hermione said, breathlessly, once she was finished.

Dumbledore nodded again, and sat forward in his chair, to lower his voice a little. "You are here to stop Tom – the Tom Riddle sat in the Grand Hall right now – from turning into this awful murderer in your future?"

"Yes," Hermione told him, "In your future, too."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't think I will be able to live that long, Miss Granger."

Hermione laughed then, herself. She reminded herself of the Philosophers Stone, and Dumbledore's friend Nicholas Flammel. If she succeeded her mission (she supposed she could call it that) then that would never happen, and Nicholas could go on living forever.

But that was a very big '_if_'.

"But..." Dumbledore started up again, "...If you are from the future, shouldn't you use a fake name?"

Hermione had considered that. But she didn't see the need, seeing as her whole family were Muggles up until her, so there was no chance any of her relatives could be attending Hogwarts School.

"I am a Muggle-born, sir," Hermione told him, simply, and he seemed to understand immediately.

He waved his wand absently and the Sorting Hat drifted down from the top of the cupboard where it sat to rest gently on Dumbledore's hand.

"Oh, no, sir," Hermione said, panicking a little, "I'm sorry, but I would like to be in Slytherin."

Dumbledore fully understood again, and placed the hat on his desk. "Of, course. My apologies, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled, and the panic simmering in her gut died down a little.

"How old are you?"

This question caught Hermione off guard. Because through those months of hell, of death and destruction, it had been Hermione's birthday. And she hadn't even realised until she spotted a calendar in an absent house they had been hiding in. She didn't mention anything to anyone, because she didn't feel like celebrating just then. She was seventeen.

"I'm seventeen, sir," Hermione said. Dumbledore seemed to realise what she was about to say, so he sat back in his chair and smiled at her, "But I think it would make life much easier if I was put into sixth year, Professor."

Dumbledore grinned. "Like Tom."

Hermione nodded. "Like Riddle."

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She had decided on a small entrance, would do the world of good. She didn't want to be announced to the whole school as a new girl. It would have been easier just to fade into the background.

But, she soon realised, that was hard on the Slytherin table.

She had made extra are to sit about three people away from Riddle, in order to still be speaking distance of him.

He noticed her the second she sat down.

"Oh, my God," He snarled, his cold eyes sweeping her disapprovingly, "Who ordered the exploding girl?"

No one seemed to understand what he was saying, but they realised who he was talking about.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and leant forward on the table. She asked as coldly as she could, "Excuse me?"

Tom made a face like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Your hair! It looks like the hairdryer blew up on you."

There were many sniggers from the table, then, and Hermione just smirked at Riddle.

"At least it blew up on my hair. I see you were unfortunate enough for you to have gotten it on your face."

Then the sniggers morphed to laughs and Hermione leant back on the bench, as if to say 'I rest my case'.

"Wow." A girl said, sitting opposite Hermione. She had jet-black hair, a too-skinny frame, pale skin dimpled in odd, dark freckles, and eyes such a dark mahogany they were almost black. "Well done. I've been trying to think of a good comeback for Tom for ages." She extended out a hand for Hermione to shake, accompanied by a warm, genuine smile that reassured Hermione a little bit. "I'm Eileen Prince."

Hermione took her hand and smiled back. "Hermione Granger."

When Eileen took her hand away, Hermione looked across the table at Riddle, who was clearly smouldering with frustration. He obviously wasn't used to getting back-chatted.

He just glared at her with his sharp, grey eyes.

The boy sat beside Eileen extended his arm out, too. He was quite attractive, and obviously on the Quidditch Team. His build was muscular and stocky, and his hand very large and tanned. His hair was a golden brown, and his eyes a beautifully light blue. His smile was not missing the perfect teeth, impossibly white and shiny. Hermione took his hand, too, and hers seemed engulfed in his.

"I'm Ryker Ray." He said.

"Hi." Hermione said, beaming, feeling suddenly all girly. She knew he had heard her name when she'd told Eileen, so she didn't repeat it.

He folded his arms on the table and raised an eyebrow. "That's Tom," He said, jutting his head out in the direction of Riddle. "_His Royal Highness_ doesn't like it when people outsmart him. I suggest you just ignore him." He winked at her, and Hermione felt all giggly.

But she laughed normally, bobbing her head a little. "_'His Royal Highness'_? I like that."

Then the boy sitting beside Hermione laughed, and turned to face her. He was built up, too, but not as handsome as Ryker. His hair was a coffee-brown, and his eyes such a green it reminded her of Harry. He didn't offer his hand, but beamed all the same.

"I'm Jackson." He told her. "Jackson Rubel."

"Hello," Hermione greeted, smiling.

"This is Roberta," He said, and a girl with unbelievably blonde hair and eyes as blue as Ryker's appeared from behind Jackson and waggled her fingers at Hermione. "She's Ryker's twin sister."

Hermione could see the resemblance now, and chuckled a little. "Hi," She acquainted Roberta, waving back.

Roberta didn't say anything, just sat back down and disappeared behind Jackson again.

Hermione looked back to Riddle, and saw he was still glaring at her. _Someone_ needs to learn to control their temper...

"So where are you from?" Eileen asked, giving me another warm smile.

Hermione sighed and thought of home. If she could still call it that. She had to get used to the fact that _this _was her home now. In 1888. Hogwarts.

"...A long way away." Hermione said, so quietly is was almost a whisper.

The tension across the table ran a little high then, and everyone exchanged glances, and no one bothered to ask Hermione what she meant.

The rest of dinner went on with a lot of small-talk, and Riddle barely spoke a word. Hermione didn't risk another glance in his direction. She couldn't bear to see that bitter stare once more.

She knew Riddle would be mean. She knew he would get a little snarky if she ever outwitted him. She knew that he would have everyone else in Slytherin bowing down to him on all fours, but she didn't know it would be that bad.

And it could only get worse.

_She didn_'_t know the full extent of it until it was too late_...

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_N/A: Oh my God, I just want to say THANKS SO MUCH for all your subscriptions and reviews, it means so much to me! (: I love you all, really. :D You guys are what keeps me writing. Xxx_

_This is just about the right size chapter, I think. :P But if you want them smaller or longer, please let me know. Thanks._

_Kelly xxx_

_PS: Review, please x_


	3. Love Potion

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline. **

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Hermione needed no help getting around school.

Baring in mind that she'd walked through those halls more times than she could count, she was confident venturing to class by herself. The only thing she needed was her timetable. That – trusty Dumbledore – seemed to be exactly the same as Riddle's. Whenever she walked into a class, he was there. And with a spare seat beside him. Hermione didn't think this strange, and didn't take the time to pity him. Seeing as he was cruel to everyone who ever even looked at him, she wasn't at all surprised.

Potions, much to her distaste, was the first lesson after dinner. She'd never really liked potions, but this time Snape wouldn't be teaching it, and she thought Professor Slughorn was a much better teacher, anyway. He was much younger than the last time she'd seen him, obviously. As were many other teachers; like Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. Slughorn was... almost handsome. Now he was thinner, and with a full head of hair, and his clothes seemed much more expensive, and less moth-eaten.

When she walked into the room, she was among the first to arrive. Though, she'd always seemed to notice that Tom was there before her. And most of the time she left the previous classroom before he'd even gathered his things. Why was that?

But, she just put on her straightest 'let's-get-to-work' face, and made her way over to the empty seat beside Riddle that would have been assigned to her, anyway.

Tom sneered at her as she put out her things on the table, and rested her bag to the floor. She didn't even glance at him once while she did this, and this only got even more on Tom's nerves. But Hermione had the right to be a little short with him, or maybe even a little cheeky. He had, after all, killed everyone she'd ever cared about...

Even if it wasn't in his lifetime, yet.

When she finally did turn to look at him, the crease in his brow was so deep the wrinkles had began to crack against the bridge of his perfect nose.

She smiled innocently, and said, "Don't concentrate so hard, Tom. I can almost smell your hair burning."

Tom's eyebrows relaxed, and a smirk crept across his lips.

She was taken aback but how handsome it was.

Yeah, she'd known Tom Riddle had been handsome, she'd seen him in the Pensieve, but this was different somehow. The mercy memories in the water didn't seem to do this gorgeous boy justice. They never got the twitch of his appetising lips right, or the curve of his eyebrows, or the delicate paleness of his skin, adding a sort of speciality to his thick, crisp, dark chocolate hair. His jaw line seemed off, and the longness in his slender neck, adding to his height, didn't seem to be long enough. And the sparkle of life, daring to come out, in his grey eyes was gone. His big hands, with his thin, lengthy fingers, didn't seem much bigger than hers in the Pensieve. But in real life, if she placed her hand down subtly beside his on the desk, it seemed as though he could crush her wrist in one single squeeze.

To think that he could have gone from being this attractive, to a hideous monster, sent a rush of remorse into Hermione's system. Voldemort would have got many more followers if he'd stayed looking like that.

This thought snapped Hermione back to her senses, and almost didn't catch Tom's sentence.

"You're the one whose hair blew up."

Hermione could only smirk back, hardly able to summon a chuckle or a _real _smile; still being wrapped up in Tom's stunning features.

She couldn't think of a good enough comeback, so she just turned back to the things she'd set out on the desk, absently fiddling with her quill.

As soon as Tom took a breath to speak again, she turned to look at him; happy to have an excuse to study his face again.

"And it's 'Riddle' to you."

Hermione immediately wished she hadn't looked at him as he spoke. Not because of what he'd said, that didn't bother her in the slightest, but because his cruel grimace was back and his grey eyes pierced her muddy brown like a silver dagger to a maroon, broken heart.

She smirked again, and narrowed her eyes a little, to stop his penetrating gaze just slightly.

"But 'Tom' is your name."

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him – infuriating him further.

"Although, I forgot that your father's name was Tom." Riddle's mouth clamped shut in surprise, wondering how she'd known that. "And of course you'd hate your _filthy Muggle father's name._"

She'd put a slight emphasis on these last four words, subtly imitating his voice to the way he'd said it to Harry that day he'd went into the Chamber of Secrets, just after showing him the anagram that made up his name.

'_I Am Lord Voldemort_'

'_Tom Marvolo Riddle_'

'"_Surely_, _you didn_'_t think that I was going to keep my filthy Muggle father_'_s name_... _No_. _I fashioned myself a new name_. _A name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak_, _as I became the greatest sorcerer in the world_!"'

Tom stared at her as if she was out of this world. How on earth had she known that? Not a soul knew about his family, he'd always shun them if they asked him. But she had known...

Tom just chuckled darkly, desperately trying to hide his shock. "Well done, Granger. However, Arthimancy isn't permitted, now, is it?" He tutted at her, shaking his head with closed eyes. "Don't misbehave yourself, Granger. Especially on your very first day."

Hermione smiled sweetly again, the picture of innocence. "Tom," she began, and Riddle grimaced involuntarily, "if I'd used Arthimancy you would have felt it before I'd had a chance to see anything."

Tom's nose began to twitch, as his snarl began to slowly rise across his face.

"And I don't need to use Arthimancy to figure out the anagram your name produces."

Hermione had turned her head just in time before she saw Tom's face completely relax. Apart from his eyebrows that were knitted across his forehead, and the crinkles on his nose become so deep she could have traced them with her little finger.

What anagram? What was she talking about?

_And_, _for once_, _Tom had completely no idea was she was talking about_...

Professor Slughorn came into the classroom just then, stopping the paper bird fight that had been going on, and all the hustle and bustle of conversation, when everyone quickly scrambled over to their desks and sat down.

Unlike Snape, he didn't shout or issue detention; he just smiled and pointed his wand swiftly at the blackboard. The chalk suddenly snapped up and began writing.

With his free hand, he picked up the lid from the cauldron on his desk, and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass, and fresh parchment, and quill ink filled Hermione's nostrils. She knew instantly what it was before Slughorn had even began talking.

"Can anyone tell me what this..." His speech trailed off as he saw Hermione already had her hand high in the air. "...Yes, miss...??"

Hermione put her hand down and smiled. "Granger. It's Love Potion, sir. And a very strong one, judging by the smell."

Slughorn nodded in confirmation, but Hermione started up again. "Of course, it doesn't cause _actual _love – that would be impossible," She was surprised by the fact that she was quoting what he had told her class, back in her past, "But it _does _cause powerful infatuation or obsession." The image of Lavender Brown filled her mind, and she thought the urge to giggle.

Slughorn swallowed, obviously not expecting the new girl to be so forward and confident, but he smiled nonetheless. "Very well done, Miss Granger. 10 points to Slytherin."

Hermione felt very strange knowing that she wasn't gaining points for Gryffindor anymore, and looked down at the silver serpent dancing on the front of her robes. She'd never really liked green...

"As Miss Granger said," Slughorn started again, "you can always tell by the smell how powerful something is. But, with Love Potion, it smells different depending on each person's likes. To me, it smells of old potion cupboards, and dusty parchment, and stale red wine." He didn't seem at all embarrassed to share this information with the class, but several different people exchanged glances.

Hermione wondered what it smelt like to Tom. But, knowing him, it probably didn't smell of anything at all. He was so filled up with hate for the world, his compassion was gone. He must have forgotten everything about the feeling of love or happiness.

Slughorn swooped back to his desk, and put down his wand. The chalk fell back neatly into the hole in the board where it was kept, and Hermione saw that the instructions on how to make the Love Potion were now written on it.

Slughorn gestured to where Hermione's gaze had already been. "You have thirty minutes. You know what to do."

At that, he sat back down, humming absently to himself, as he picked up a quill and started to write in his curly, fine print.

Hermione was up to the cupboard gathering her things before anyone else had even stood up. She heard the awful screeching of stools and shuffling feet on the floor as she picked up the last of her ingredients and made her way back to her table. She passed Riddle on her way up, and their gaze locked on for just a minute. She was sure she'd saw something behind those grey pools of nothing, but he'd breezed past her before she'd had a chance to study it any further.

She was applying the second lot of ingredients when Tom came back. Her potion had already turned a royal colour of blue, and she was carefully stirring the liquid. Once clockwise, twice anti-clockwise and half a stir clockwise again.

Tom slurred with his potion. Carelessly tipping things in, sloppily stirring it and cutting things up lazily.

Hermione had learned a few tricks of the trade, though, in her sixth year when Harry had found Snape's old potions book. Like crushing the beetles instead of slicing them.

When she saw Riddle hastily stirring his potion wrongly again, she gently pushed him away and grabbed his hands over the spoon to stop him going any further.

"What do you think you're doing?!" She snapped, and Tom took his hand from beneath hers so fast it was as though she had caught fire. She began rapidly stirring the cauldron properly, adding in a few more crushed beetle shells, and one last phoenix feather. Riddle's potion stopped fizzing, and turned a shocking shade of yellow. She huffily let go of the spoon and turned around to Tom like he was a stupid little kid.

Which she supposed he was.

"Do you have any idea what would have happened if you'd stirred that like you were one more time?!"

Tom arched a single dark eyebrow. "Exploded, like your hair?"

Hermione did not in the least care about what he had just said. "It would have created a fume so strong it would have corroded a hole in the windows! It would have radiated everyone in this room to nothing but bones, and it would have drifted like that through the entire school!"

Tom shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Nothing major then."

Hermione growled and returned to her own potion, now distracted by the rage inside of her.

Riddle was so stupid. Acting like he was some sort of happy-go-lucky child that couldn't care less. He had no idea of the damage he could have caused if he'd kept stirring.

"You'll want to add some more Carpel." She said through gritted teeth after a minute or two, her anger drying down. "Otherwise it'll stay that colour."

Tom sneered down at his potion and at the ingredients lined up before him. "Which one's the Carpel again?"

Hermione didn't even look up from her cauldron. "The pink liquid in the genie-like bottle."

Tom looked at her then, but she didn't even blink. "What's a... '_genie_-_bottle_'?"

Whoops. Hermione should have known he wouldn't have cared for Muggle fairytales.

She shrugged and shook her head vaguely. "Just some old Muggle folk-tale I heard,"

Tom immediately looked away and snarled once more. Hopefully he wouldn't catch on why she was familiar with the Muggle-tales.

After about five more minutes of nothing but silence, apart from the occasional fizz of a potion or a drop of an ingredient, she sighed, stepped away from her things and looked at Tom.

"Tom..." She said, softly. This time Riddle did not grimace. "...What do you smell when you sniff the Love Potion?"

Riddle hesitated with his staring for a moment, but did not look at her.

"What's it to you?"

Hermione kept looking at him, the edginess in his tone hurting her feelings. "I was just wondering–,"

"Yeah, well, _don_'_t_!" Tom snapped, slamming down his spoon on the table and standing to face her, his eyes narrowed into slits and his teeth bared in a snarl. Hermione was taken by surprise, but blinked through it, and stood the same as she was. Tom's breathing had become deep pants with his frustration, and the unshed tears glistened in his eyes like rhinestones in the sun. Hermione felt her own eyes sting, and her nose tingle, but blinked through that, too.

"You know what, Granger? You know too much than what's good for you!" He snapped harshly. He was referring to her geeky knowledge (which he was jealous off), but also to what she knew about him. "It may be alright for you to be nosy and poke yourself in situations you shouldn't be in where you come from, but it's not here!" His voice had begun to shake, and his chest was rising and falling an unhealthy amount. "Especially not around me!" Hermione knew instantly she'd said too much before, and she knew exactly what he was talking about. "I have no idea how you knew that stuff about my father but..." he shook his head, "...I may be a filthy Mudblood, but I get three times the amount of respect you _ever_ will!"

Hermione's heart panged. He sounded just like Malfoy. Except he would always call _her _the Mudblood. And to hear the remorseful words come from Tom's lips it pushed her to the edge. Not once in her life had she heard someone regret their blood status. Especially her 'Mudblood' friends. It made her angry to hear the words spill so easily from his mouth like liquid toffee.

"Yeah, well, believe it or not, Tom, you're not the only Muggle-born in Slytherin."

She stood up quickly, gripped her books with such a force her knuckles turned white, and slung her back hastily over her shoulder. A second after she'd stepped away from the desk towards the door, the signal went off for next lesson, and she was out of that door before anyone had realised what was what.

She had to get out of everyone's range of sight before the tears spilt over.

* * *

Hermione had managed to convince herself that they were tears of anger. Hot anger that had been building up over the years about Malfoy and Riddle, and everyone else that had ever made a snide remark about her blood status.

But she knew they were basically the unshed tears for her lost Harry and Ron. Their faces tickled her mind like a feather duster, and she could hear their voices swimming around her ears like an unwanted echo.

"_Come on_, _Hermione_. _Don_'_t be like that_." She heard Harry say.

"_Yeah_. _It_'_s only Riddle_." Ron said, in the voice he usually used when saying 'bloody hell'.

"_The longer you sit in here the crying the sooner _Riddle's going to turn into Voldemort." Harry said again, almost whispering, ignoring Ron.

"_You came all the way back to bloody 1888 to _stop_ him doing just that_, '_Mione_." Ron said in a quieter, less demanding voice that was actually comforting.

"_You aren't going to do that sat in the bathroom_..."

Hermione sniffled in spite of herself, and tried to wipe her tears.

It was so like them. They sounded so familiar it was as though they were sat right beside her.

And she knew they were right. If she kept on like this Riddle would go on to kill them in the future, and she would have experienced all that pain for nothing. Not even a better future.

She stood up, wiped the last of her tears and stomped from that bathroom, her remaining sobs covered up by the determination slowly racking her body.

* * *

_N/A: So, how's it coming along? You like?? :D I realise it's kind of boring at the moment, but I promise you it will get you giddy soon enough. ;) _

_Your reviews are amazing, thank you so much! x_

_The quotes in here are from the __movie__ Chamber of Secrets (Surely, you didn't think I was going to keep my filthy Muggle father's name...) and the __movie__ Half Blood Prince (Slughorn's Love Potion explanation)._

_I hope you enjoyed it! _

_Oh, and I'm sorry for the short chapter again, I just thought that then would be a good time to end it. I'll try to make these longer, I'm sorry again._

_Kelly xxx_

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	4. Harry and Ron

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline. **

**WARNING: Strong Language.**

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"Hermione, I am telling you, he has _never _interacted with someone through a whole lesson as much as he interacted with you in Potions!"

Hermione chuckled at Eileen. "Eileen, I highly doubt that."

"Oh, no, she's right." Roberta called, suddenly popping up from behind the bed she was kneeling beside. She was getting rather good at popping up when you least expected it. "When _I _sat beside him one time he tried to booby-trap my potion, and he hardly even looked at me, despite spoke two words to me."

Eileen nodded vigorously in agreement, her eyes wide in seriousness.

Hermione just smiled at them both, and placed her folded up uniform on the back of the chair beside her bed.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Eileen said, a little tiredly, kneeling up on her bed and fiddling with the curtain hanging on one of the four posters, "You can't say you didn't notice it."

Hermione shook her head, and sat in the middle of the bed, facing them both. "Notice what?"

Roberta spoke again, and Hermione saw that she was sat on _her _bed, too. She was pretty quiet; one of her other talents. "Are you kidding? Didn't you notice the difference between at dinner and in Potions?"

Hermione looked down at her lap, and began picking at the dark green bedcovers. "Well... In potions, he didn't really talk to me, _I _talked to _him_. And at dinner, I suppose he was a little overwhelmed by how you were all taking to me."

Eileen pouted her bottom lip. "I suppose..." Her curtain was now off the hook, and it was dangling down beside the bedpost.

Roberta snorted loudly. "Overwhelmed? More like jealous."

Eileen giggled. Hermione peered at Roberta. "What do you mean?"

Roberta looked at Eileen for a second, before switching her gaze to Hermione again sympathetically. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. "Sorry... Just..."

Eileen discretely cleared her throat, and Roberta's speech trailed off slightly.

"...Just that... Tom doesn't like _change_..." It was obvious she was longing to say something else on her mind, but it was like her tongue was catching in her throat.

Hermione didn't push anything else, as it was clearly bothering her. She just pulled across the curtains around her bed and climbed under the covers.

Eileen did the same, and Roberta probably did, too, but she was so quiet Hermione wasn't sure. It took a short amount of time for Hermione to drift off, but when she did she wished that she hadn't.

Her dreams were filled with screams, and flashes of green, and those burning red eyes scorched her mind. But then they faded out into the piercing grey eyes of Tom Riddle, and the cackling laugh emerged his lips. It echoed around her ears and bounced off the fringes of her mind. The blood pulsed in her ears and her vision blurred. The colour faded and the screams got louder. And then the greyscale faded to that horrid green light. It intensified, until it was all she could see. The screams faded out, and the cackling got louder. Suddenly, she heard Harry's voice. Far off, quiet, distant. As if he was a million miles away. He was yelling her name, calling her. Ron's voice faded in, too, beside Harry's, and they were both calling her. She longed to reach out for them, hold out her hand for them to take and to yell them, too. But her arms felt like they weighed a million tons and her mouth wouldn't open. The green was burning her eyes, and she longed to see their faces. The cackling then grew so loud it hurt her ears, and with every increased decibel, Harry and Ron's calling turned to screams of pain, hurt, anger, and it got farther away. Until the cackling was all there was. Then the hard eyes of Tom Riddle were back, and his cold laugh covered up the cackle. But then his smirk reached his eyes, and the grey turned red, and he lifted his wand as the words emerged his lips—

"HERMIONE!"

Hermione shot up in her bed. The sweat poured from her forehead in streams and her fringe stuck to it like glue. The tears were still running down her face and her throat was sore and dry from the screaming.

Eileen was stood beside her, on her left, and Roberta on her right. There were a couple of other Slytherin girls stood around her bed, many she didn't know who they were.

"Hermione, are you OK?"

"What happened?? What on earth were you dreaming about?"

Hermione swallowed down the saliva coating her mouth, and sat panting, trying to figure out how she was ever going to get out of this one.

* * *

"I heard you screaming last night."

It was Defence against the Dark Arts class, and once again Hermione was sitting beside Tom. At first when she'd seen him as she entered the classroom, her chest lurched and she had the strongest urge to vomit. But then she saw his expression. And he wasn't even looking at her. He was gazing down mindlessly at the table, making absent, invisible patterns with his fingers. He seemed far away, and worried about something. Concerned.

Hermione hadn't asked him about it when she sat beside him, but he was quick to the chase about her nightmare last night. Cold hearted and unbothered. Exactly as she expected.

She lifted her chin just the slightest, cleared her throat and looked down as her textbook as she answered. "Oh..." She'd been hoping to say something with a lot more syllables, but her mouth opened and that slipped out. Then it clamped shut again and wouldn't let anything else through.

Tom looked at her now. And he kept looking until she glanced up at him. He turned away quickly, his face expressionless and unreadable.

"Can I ask, what was your nightmare about?"

He was the first person to refer to it as a 'nightmare', and not a 'dream'. It was clear he had nightmares frequently, too.

Hermione shook her head. "No, you can't. You never answer any of my questions, so..."

Tom stopped with his quill and sat up straighter in his chair. "What questions?" He asked, his eyebrows knit and the wrinkles on his brow setting to their normal positions.

Hermione sighed and slouched in her seat beside him. This time, when she turned to face him, he didn't look away. "The one about the Love Potion." Tom's eyebrows relaxed and went _high_ up his brow. The wrinkled pushed up into his hairline and his wavy brown locks covered most of them. "If you tell me what you smell I'll tell you about my nightmare."

Hermione instantly regretted it, of course. Because now she had to come up with a whole new lie. And it had to be believable, but not too short in case he didn't believe her. She never had to lie to Harry and Ron, so this was a whole new concept for her. How could she say she had a nightmare about _him_? The very man sat in front of her! But in fifty years to come. No. It wouldn't be ethical for what she had came to do.

Tom hesitated. But then sighed deeply, full of emotion. He placed both elbows on the desk and ran his hands through his hair, lowering his face so she couldn't see him.

He stayed in that still position for a matter of minutes, before shooting up – making Hermione jump. He looked straight at her, into her eyes deeply and she was sure he was searching for her soul within them. Tom's mouth opened and closed rapidly, not sure what he was going to say. Until when the words finally escaped his mouth, in tiny whispers so quiet Hermione had to strain to hear them.

"What if... what if one doesn't smell anything..."

Hermione had known it. She'd known it all along. Tom doesn't smell anything in the potion, because he did not know what made him happy. He was numb inside. No family, no friends. No happiness at all. He was like a rock. Still as stone, emotionless as...

Her train of thought faltered as she realised she was talking about herself as well as Tom.

Hermione tried to cover up her smugness, and looked at Tom sympathetically. "Riddle..." taking the choice of using the preferred name, "...I can understand that. But..." She sighed and gave up. "..._Nothing_??"

Tom shook his head plainly.

"Not even some sort of flower you may have smelt once? No Honeydukes sweets you like? Nothing??"

Tom shook his head again. "At the orphanage, we aren't allowed to venture outside. And in Hogwarts, I can't visit Hogsmeade, due to the fact that I have no guardians to sign the permission forms for me to go." He'd said it so casually, it was as though they were talking over Butterbeers at The Hogs Head. But the pulse of pain throbbed there. So quiet, so hidden. So painful...

Hermione reached over and took his arm. And this time, he did not flinch away from her touch.

"You'll be able to smell something one day. I know you will." Something in the back of her mind, told her that this was true words of wisdom. But something closer to heart told her that she was just saying it to reassure him.

Riddle shrugged and she took her hand away.

"So," He began, picking up his quill again. "Are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?"

Hermione laughed humourlessly, nervously. She took her own quill, too, and fiddled with the feathers for a while before speaking. "You see..." she looked up at him, and his eyes were on her. Just as sympathetic as she'd been to him. "...I've got a phobia of heights. And–,"

She stopped, as her head gave a sharp pain and her eyes closed shut. A gasp emerged her lips and her navel jerked. It was a similar feeling to apparating.

Suddenly, her eyes opened, but she wasn't looking back at Tom. She was back home. In that cell. Harry's bloodied head was on her lap and Ron was at her side, entwining her fingers with his.

Oh _no_.

She realised she wasn't acting that out. She was overlooking it. Seeing it. Happen before her eyes. She knew instantly what was going on. She turned and Riddle was stood behind her. But not the Voldemort Hermione in the past knew. This was the 16 year old one, who had used Legilimency to get inside her memories.

That _bastard_.

He smirked at her, before turning his cold gaze to the other her, sat on the cold stone floor.

She lived this in her nightmares. Why did he have to bring her back?

"Tom," She snarled. Riddle just ignored her, and kept looking at the other three. Damn! She wished that Harry had taught her Occlumency now.

Suddenly, a hooded figure came in and snatched Harry away and dragged him to the other room. Hermione snuggled up to Ron and cried. The _other _Hermione. The past Hermione...

Tom's smirk faltered as Harry's screaming quickly started.

The Hogwarts Hermione, the one that had came with Tom, covered her face with her hands and began whimpering. Those screams were the sound of Tom's doing. _Riddle _was doing that in the other room. Just inches away from them. But he was stood right there. And when this was all over, she had to return to reality with him, and sit next to him in lesson, talk to him in the Great Hall, act as though he were her 'friend' when actually inside whenever she saw him...

...she saw their faces of terror.

Imagine living your life like that. Imagine having to face the person that killed _every single human being _that you ever cared for and not being allowed to do anything about it. Imagine having to _live_ with them. Sit with them, talk with them, eat with them.

_Maybe even sleep with them_...

She turned to face the old Tom Riddle, whose face was now a mask of horror, and begged him with her eyes to stop. To take her back down to reality, before Harry died. Before that awful flash of green light burnt her eyes and—

There it was. The green light.

The Boy Who Lived was dead.

Another hooded figure came in, and snatched Ron away from her this time, and threw him into the other room. The other Hermione curled up into a ball, using the palms of her hands to cover her ears, to block out some of the sound. The screaming. The wretched screeching that one should not have to hear in a lifetime.

But she was living two.

Before she knew it, Tom was at her side. Not the present Hermione, the past Hermione, sat on the floor. He reached out and tried to touch her face with his fingertips, but he just passed through her. As though he were a ghost.

He sighed, and stood up to face the other Hermione.

She knew now that if Ron died, and Snape came in and gave her the Time Turner, Riddle would fit everything into place. And that would just make life dangerous.

"Tom..." She whispered, hoarsely, "...please, Tom..." She couldn't finish her sentence, because the sobs following the green light racked her whole body, and she was now imitating the Hermione sat on the floor.

Tom walked over to her, and took her hands with his. She realised how cold his fingers were, but didn't care. She just wanted to go home. She couldn't watch one more person die here.

_No more_.

When she opened her eyes again, she was sat back on her chair in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Riddle was sat beside her, of course. But their hands were no longer touching, and he was staring wide-eyed at the table, taking quick, short breaths in and out through his nose. With anger, jealousy, hatred or fright, Hermione didn't know. All she knew was she wanted to kill him.

More than she'd ever wanted to kill someone before.

She wiped her tears with the edge of her sleeve, and picked up her quill again. She daren't look round to see if anyone was staring at her, but she just got on with her work, sniffling.

Tom's breathing slowed after a while, and he just stared at Hermione with eyes so huge she was surprised they hadn't popped from their sockets and rolled across the floor yet.

She expected him to apologize. Or something of that nature. But, it's Tom Riddle. Did you ever expect him to _apologize _for anything??

"They were Harry and Ron weren't they."

Hermione shot up and looked straight at him, horror-struck. "How did you know about them??"

Something in her head was telling Hermione that maybe he'd known, because of something to do with the connection between the two Voldemorts in that room. But when he answered, she realised it was nothing to do with that at all.

"You were screaming them in your sleep."

Hermione's cheeks flushed a magenta red, but she didn't care. She was more worried about what else she may have shouted in her sleep.

She cleared her throat before answering. "Really?? Well... what else was I screaming?"

Tom shrugged. "Just general screaming; '_No Harry_, _run_!' '_Ron_, _don_'_t_!', all that kind of thing."

Hermione was intrigued in spite of the situation. He'd done an imitation of her voice almost perfectly. But she still didn't want to see those words escape _his _lips.

"Oh, yeah, and someone called '_Voldemort_'."

The breath caught in Hermione's windpipe.

"You were shouting at him to leave them alone, stop torturing them, to take you instead. Something about no more information left to give. You were really terrified of him."

Hermione tried to swallow, but her gag reflex was beginning to overcome her.

"And then you were screaming at someone called _Malfoy_. And _Snape_. '_Malfoy_!' You were yelling, '_How could you_! _Harry saved your life_, _remember_?!' and at Snape, '_Snape_, _why are you doing this_?! _You_'_re supposed to be on the good side_! _On_ Dumbledore's_ side_!'—,"

With an awful retching sound, Hermione keeled over and vomited on the floor beside her desk.

Tom stopped talking, and cowered away from her. Anyone would have, that she understood. But she couldn't help but seeing Draco Malfoy's face. The awful sneer he had, with the wrinkles pushed up beside his nose. "_Oh Merlin_," he'd say, "_Mudblood vomit germs_! _That_'_s just filthy_."

But as far as Tom knew, Hermione was a 'Pureblood'.

Professor Dumbledore's voice came from the front of the classroom. "Oh, dear, Miss Granger," He said, his footsteps growing closer. "Come now, we'll get you to the hospital wing. Madam Pomphrey will take care of you. Oh, you poor thing."

Hermione carefully stood up with Dumbledore, and slowly trudged from the classroom, trying to keep the rest of her breakfast down. She left her bag and her parchment and her quill and things, but she didn't care. She didn't want to go back there, under the questioning eyes of Tom Riddle.

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_N/A: Hey, guys! :D So how was that?? You like it so far? :)_

_I really think the storyline's picking off, and I know it all seems kind of pointless right now, and like it's not actually going anywhere but trust me it soooooo is. ;)_

_OMG, thanks SO MUCH, everyone, for all your AMAZING reviews! I love you all so much! x You guys are what keep me writing._

_I hope you like reading, and the next update's coming soon._

_Kelly xxx_

_PS, I also love everyone who put me on Author Alert and Story Alert, you're amazing. x_

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	5. Magenta Rivers Run Deep

**_You're everything I thought you never were,  
And nothing like I thought you could have been.  
But still, you live inside of me.  
So tell me, how is that?  
You're the only one I wish I could forget,  
The only one I love to not forgive.  
And though, you break my heart,  
You're the only one, and though there  
Are times when I hate you,  
'Cause I can't erase,  
The times that you hurt me, and put tears on my face.  
And even now while I hate you,  
It pains me to say.  
I know I'll be there at the end of the day..._**

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Song; **_**Broken-Hearted Girl**_**© by **_**Beyonce**_**. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

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Hermione decided she'd go straight back to her dormitory after the incident in Defence Against the Dark Arts. She knew Tom well enough now, to know that he'd want to question her at the first opportunity he had. She was more worried about the fact that she was missing lessons, that very well may be vital to achieving her NEWTs, as she tried not to think of Tom for now.

When Eileen, Roberta and all the other girls came in, she pretended to be asleep. But as soon as she was sure that they were all sleeping deeply, she cried silently into her pillow, images of Harry and Ron in that chamber, and Tom stood there watching while Voldemort took them away and murdered them swimming round her brain. She didn't want to sleep, for she knew her dreams would be filled with that awful green flash, and those hysteric screams.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they could only get worse.

* * *

She was dreading breakfast the next day.

She'd already spoken to Eileen and Roberta that morning in the dormitory, assuring them she was fine. But, obviously, they were a lot more understanding than she knew Tom would ever be.

Her feet dragged on the floor and her knees buckled as she made her slow, sluggish way to the Main Hall. Every single limb on her body felt weighed down, as though attached to a one-ton load.

But she knew if she didn't do breakfast now, it would be even harder the next day. If she shut herself away, she wouldn't be able to stick up for herself. Rumours would be free to spread and get as ridiculous as they wanted. No. She had to do this.

Determination always won in the end. Funny that, wasn't it?

Suddenly, a deep, snide voice announced itself, and Hermione jumped about a foot, detached from her train of thought. "Where are you going, Granger?"

There was a squeak and a shuffle, and she knew someone was behind her. She just didn't want to think about who it was...

Hermione turned and looked Tom Riddle straight in the eyes. That mocking cold smirk was once again plastered across his face, and his grey pools of wisdom seemed more alive than ever.

She kept a straight face, and replied, as toneless as she could, "Riddle."

Tom chuckled, and took a step towards her. It was then, and only then, when Hermione realised they were the only two in that corridor. "Now, Granger, don't be so heartless."

Hermione could have almost laughed. She would have, if she wasn't trying to look as though she didn't care less. Inside, her stomach was twisting into many impossible knots, and her mouth kept filling up and emptying with frothy saliva. Her palms were damp and her knees were struggling just to hold her up. It really was amusing, and almost ironic, that someone like Tom Riddle would call _her _heartless.

Hermione said nothing, and watching warily as he circled her. The eyes of the predator scanning the prey. The twitch of a mouse gazing into the eyes of the feline.

The lion in the snake pit.

Or a snake in the lion's den?

"You didn't sleep well last night, Granger." Tom stated, as more of a fact than an actual question. He stopped circling and stood in front of her, too close for comfort, in Hermione's point of view.

His smirk was beginning to become annoying.

Hermione gulped down the lump in her throat before answering. "No, I didn't."

She took a step back, and Tom merely chuckled and took another step forward.

Now a little overwhelmed, Hermione stepped back again, only to bump into something hard. She turned and saw a wall. A huge, stone wall, encasing her like a prisoner.

And Tom was the warden.

Oh, he was so clever.

His smirk was infuriating now, and he stepped forward once again, and placed one hand on the left side of Hermione's head. His other hand was in his trouser pocket.

They're noses were inches away from touching, and Hermione very hard tried – with difficulty – to control her breathing.

Her sweet, tingling breath was brushing his cheek, swirling inside his nostrils like an unwanted stench. It smelt of lemon, or some sort of sweet she'd eaten that morning. It was better than Tom would have expected.

"You should learn better sense of direction, Granger." Tom said, cruelly smirking even more, showing all his perfect, white teeth. Hermione recognised them as the teeth of Voldemort, and her stomach did a flip-flop.

He was referring to how he'd distracted her with all his circling, and confused her with her own turning, keeping her eyes on him. He'd managed to turn her around to the direction of a gap in the wall, just behind a pillar.

Tom's breath breezed onto Hermione's face. It was gentle, and thin. It smelt of peppermint, like the toothpaste he'd used that morning. Hermione hadn't expected to like it, but it was almost as delightful as fresh parchment.

Hermione didn't reply to his snide remark, but he chuckled and leaned in, closer. Hermione thought for a maddening half a second that Tom Riddle – _the actual Tom Riddle; Voldemort to be _– was leaning in for a kiss, but he skipped right past her lips until his chin was brushing her cheek. His lips pressed against her ear ever so slightly as he whispered, so quietly, it reminded her of Snape, that one night he'd saved her life.

"Say goodnight, Granger."

Hermione didn't have time to ask what he meant, because at that, there was a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, and Tom jerked before her. He was so close to her now, he was practically leaning her into the brickwork.

She gasped, and, as Tom pulled away from her, a red-tipped dagger displayed proudly in his hand, looked down. Blood was flowing like a magenta river from a deep gouge in her stomach and down her leg.

All of a sudden, in spite of the fact that she was like a dead man walking, she got an image of her first period.

She was thirteen, and she'd seen the blood staining her trousers and went to tell her Mum. Her Mum has been so happy that she was finally a 'woman', but sad that she was 'all grown up'.

Was it funny that her life was flashing before her eyes?

Hermione began laughing, dragged out and painful. With every shake of her ribs, her stomach reminded her of the wound with another sharp shoot of pain, and she collapsed onto the floor like a rag doll.

The spots were already dancing in front of Hermione's eyes, and the pain was excruciating. She felt like a cripple in need of assistance, and the warm liquid seeped up to her shirt, and all over her hands.

Tom knelt down beside her, staring at the strong girl below him, writhing in pain, blood covering her body. The smirk never left his lips.

He grabbed a clean patch of her jumper, and used it to wipe the blade clean. Once he'd finished, he stood up, tucked it neatly away in his robes, and turned on his heel.

With that, he walked away, whistling a mindless tune, not caring for the unconscious girl he was leaving behind.

Leaving to die.

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_N/A: Oh my God, you guys! I'm SO SORRY for the short chapter, and for making you wait so long, but school has just been piling up and piling up recently, and I thought this was a good cliff-hanger. ;)_

_I promise, the next chapter will TOTALLY make up for this one, and I REALLY hope you like this one! :)_

_Love you all, seriously. :D_

_Kelly xxx_

_PS, Please take notice of the song at the top, ;) and Review please ^_^_

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	6. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

_**You don't know about a girl,  
I'll take over the world!  
And I wanna party like whoa-oh-oohh.  
You don't know about a girl,  
The meaning of the word!  
Cause we just wanna party like whoa-oh-oohh.  
So we gon' sing it.  
Whoa-oh. Hay-ay-ah-oh. Oh. Hay-eh-oh. **_

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Song belongs to The Sugababes; About a Girl. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

**WARNING: Sexual Preferences**

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You would have thought regret, guilt, and anxiety would linger around in Tom Riddle's aura. That's what it would have been like for anyone else who just killed a person.

But, no. Tom Riddle wasn't like that. He didn't even give a seconds thought to what might happen if he was caught and proven guilty, or to going back and trying to help her. Because he was too clever and big headed for that.

He knew he wouldn't get caught. And he knew that the only way he would go back and help her, was if she stood up and dragged him there.

Which wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

He just swaggered to the Main Hall and up to the Slytherin table, casually and carefully as though he'd just woken up and hadn't stabbed anyone in the gut.

He took his usual seat at the table, beside Ryker, Jackson, Eileen and Roberta. No one seemed to be aware of the fact that Hermione wasn't there, and Tom liked it that way.

But even if they did ask, he had the perfect answer already pursed on his perfect lips.

They all greeted them, and he responded like he normally would. A smirk and a nod, before sneering down at his plate.

Usual, mindless conversation didn't interest him. He'd heard it all before. He didn't care for Quidditch, because he had many other important things to do than whiz around on a stupid stick. And why would he care about who Gurter Rouse was going out with now when she apparently liked someone else? Gurter Rouse looked like a turkey on legs.

Just as he thought his head was about to explode, he thought the pressure building up inside of him was getting to his brain. His eyes must have been deceiving him. Because Hermione Granger couldn't have just walked back into the Great Hall, a great big smile on her face, as though he hadn't just stabbed her at all.

Her robes weren't ripped, and no blood was visible. She seemed to be walking just fine. And her voice was not strained with pain. Her smile was taunting to him, and she knew it.

She took her seat opposite Eileen and beside Jackson.

"Hey, Hermione. Where were you? It's almost first lesson now."

Hermione shrugged innocently, and leant over the table to grab a piece of toast. "I overslept. That's all."

Tom was sure her eyes flittered over to him for a second. But it was such a brief movement, he couldn't have been sure.

It was only then when he realised she wasn't perfectly alright, after all. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and he was sure they hadn't been there earlier. Actually... Her whole socket looked black. Like she'd been punched in the eyes. And her jaw seemed to be clenched, and he was sure she winced once or twice. And, if he looked closely, he could see a little bit of maroon – or was it dark red? – covering the green Slytherin serpent.

"Err... Tom?"

Tom hadn't realised he was gripping his fork so tightly he'd bent it slightly until Ryker pointed it out. He carefully placed it onto the table, never taking his eyes from Hermione.

_That girl was impossible_.

* * *

Lessons ran just as normal that day. Tom continued to be spiteful towards Hermione, and she tried to be polite in a taunting kind of way. She grew more and more exhausted with every step, and Tom was racking his brains wondering what must have happened in that corridor.

Hermione had decided to stay up late at the Library that night to do some extra studying. Although she knew that she would be falling asleep on her way to the common room. It was mostly to avoid having to talk to Tom, and she didn't care if she was sat up until 2 o'clock in the morning in order to make that happen.

But it seemed as though that was about to happen whether she wanted it or not.

Not long after she'd begun reading about Herbology (tears pricking her eyes after realising some things Neville had told them about plants had been quoted from this book, and his voice replayed inside her head), there was a scuff of a chair behind her, and a whispered swear word.

She knew instantly what it was.

Before she even turned, she'd said, "Hello, Riddle." When she was facing him, she slammed her book shut and thumped it down onto the desk. Despite what had happened that afternoon, she felt surprisingly calm, and not at all frightened.

Tom was already stood from his seat, and smirking at her. That same smirk he'd gave her earlier that day. His right hand was poised in front of him, his elbow balancing on the curve of his thin waist. His left hand was rested on the top of the chair he'd just stood up on, and leant on it with crossed feet.

"Granger." He said, coldly.

Hermione crossed her legs and folded her arms. She still had not left her seat. She was afraid that if she did, her legs may buckle under pressure and exhaustion.

Tom stood up straight now, and stuffed both hands into his pockets. It was only then when Hermione noticed he wasn't wearing his cloak. He was only wearing his sweater-vest, shirt and trousers. But his sleeves were rolled up, bunched at his elbows. And his tie was hanging loose outside his jumper. It was... _kind of sexy_.

Wait... _What_?!

This was the _future __Voldemort_ she was talking about, here! Wow, she really did need some sleep.

"I suppose you'd like to talk about my manoeuvre today?" Hermione wanted to get to the point as soon as possible, no matter what it was. As long as she got to bed, that would be fine.

Tom nodded once, and his smirk lengthened out. She was sure a snicker would emerge from there soon.

"How, may I ask, were you able to get up and come to breakfast when I'd stabbed you in the gut and left you to bleed?"

The words had slipped from his mouth as though they were made of ice cream, and Hermione couldn't help but wince. She did not need those images in her brain before bed. She already had bad enough nightmares as it was. Not to mention, she was still a little embarrassed about vomiting in Potions that day.

Tom noticed her discomfort, and relaxed just a little. Smugness, and even pity, swelled his chest.

Hermione swallowed down that disgusting, hard, hairy lump growing in her throat before answering shakily. "I suspect you didn't check that dagger when you used it, Tom. That is a standard Muggle dagger, and it makes it easy to heal yourself after being wounded with one like that. If you'd taken time to check it, you could have bewitched it into a complex Wizarding dagger, and I would probably be dead."

The fringes of Tom's mind licked at the images slowly fading there. He pictured her lying there, covered in blood, with grey, lifeless eyes, her body twisted into an impossible position. A position so small he could have kicked her once and her whole body would have fallen apart at his feet. He also imaged her as a ghost; floating around forever with a dagger sticking out from her stomach.

This was his satisfaction. This was his pleasure.

Death excited him.

Especially hers.

And not even some prissy, stupid, stubborn, know-it-all like Granger could stop him from succeeding that. Because even Tom himself knew once he set his mind on something, more often than not, he was going to do it. Whatever it takes.

"Do you still have that dagger, Tom?" Hermione's small voice suddenly asked, casting off his train of thought. He nodded once, frustrated and a little confused as to why she wanted to know.

She smiled at him and stood up. "Do you have it on you now?"

He hesitated. If he gave it to her now, he couldn't succeed his mission until morning. But... if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to see how you bewitched it, or how it worked. He continued to uncertainly examine her expression, which was calm and patient, holding out her hand for him to give it to her. She saw right through him.

He reached into his back pocket and handed her it, carefully. She didn't even seem to be wary of taking it from him.

Once she had it, she continued to smile. Just a small smile, tugging ever so slightly at the corners of her full lips. Tom watched her cautiously, wondering what on Earth this small little Slytherin was going to do.

She poised herself, and placed her left hand out in front of her, palm upwards and fingers stretched out. She positioned the hand with the dagger just inches above it, and Tom understood.

His mind snapped into focus, and his brain swirled. His lower abdomen pulsed with stimulation, and his breathing rapidly increased.

'_Do it_, _Granger_!' He snapped mentally, '_Do it_! _Now_!'

As though she could read his thoughts, she slowly brought the dagger down and sliced along the whole length of her palm. Tom hissed between his teeth, inhaling sharply, staring at the oozing wound Hermione had inflicted on herself. It was amazingly erotic.

She winced, but didn't take her eyes from Tom, who was gawking at her crimson hand. The smile was still tugging her mouth a little, and it was very amusing to watch Riddle act this way. Never had she seen him so fascinated in something.

She curled her bleeding hand into a fist and let Tom watch the blood drip to the floor. His eyes were wide with anticipation and Hermione felt almost sorry for him. She wasn't helping him any more than she was helping herself. If anything she was making her trip here twice as hard.

But she had to prove a point, and was set on doing so.

Her right hand dropped the dagger and it fell to the floor with a clink. Tom didn't even flinch or move his eyes from her left hand. That was all that existed to him at that moment.

She opened her palm up again and the blood was now covering her fingertips, coating every crease she had. Tom wanted to take her hand, and lick the blood from each finger. One by one. Slow torture for himself. To suck Hermione's fingers clean, before moving on to the actual wound itself. Deep and oozing. He'd slurp up the crimson liquid with his tongue and lavish himself in sin. He'd let the metallic fluid sit in his mouth. He would never swallow. He'd scrape at the edges with his teeth, bite, nip, nibble, gnaw...

Slow torture.

Oh, so slow.

Hermione took her wand from her robes, and traced the centre of the wound with the tip. She uttered inaudible spells, until the wound was mended and most of the blood was slurped up into the tip of her wand.

Tom let out a huge sigh he didn't know he'd been holding.

Hermione smiled again, and presented Tom her clean, fixed hand.

"It takes longer with bigger wounds, however. And – depending on where the wound is – more effort."

She bent down to pick up the dagger from her feet, and sat back down on the chair. She'd forgotten how exhausted she was. She examined the wooden handle, the delicate engravings and intricate craftsmanship. As Wizard as this dagger looked, it was almost certainly Muggle.

She lightly threw it back to Tom, who caught it absently by the handle.

She breathed a short laugh, to exhausted to put any effort into it. "Why not try for the Quidditch Team, Riddle?"

Tom snorted and stuffed the dagger back into his back pocket. "Play an idiotic game like that? You must be joking. I have better things to do than waste my time trying to get a stupid ball through a hoop." He leant back onto the chair he'd leaned on before, and folded his arms across his bony chest.

Hermione shrugged. "You don't have to be a Beater. You could be a Seaker."

Tom snorted louder. "Hardly. You wouldn't catch me chasing that silly little winged thing if my life depended on it."

Hermione frowned, confused and a little offended. Both her best friends played Quidditch, and almost all her best friend's family. But she didn't play it herself. She was terrified of flying.

"What have you got against Quidditch?" She heard her mouth ask without her brain's permission.

Tom shrugged now, looking away from her and out the window into the light rain and ravaging wind. "It's just a waste of time. They practically force me to get up to the stands to watch them."

Hermione smiled again. "I think you'd like Quidditch if you thought about it, Tom."

Tom looked directly straight back at her, his expression cold and his eyes narrowed. Hermione's smile did not falter. It was beginning to become annoying, no matter how beautiful it was to him, or how much he desired her blood on his hands.

"How would you know what I'd like or not?! Who are you to make accusations like that?! You barely know me, but you act like you know everything about everyone!"

Hermione didn't move, nor did her expression change.

When she didn't answer, Tom pressed on harder.

"And you walk around like you've been here a million times before! Where exactly do you come from?! If you won't answer the others then answer me!"

Hermione stood up, now. Quick as a flash, Tom didn't even see her move. The smile was gone, and she had her eyebrows knit. She was only a few feet from him now.

"Why should I answer you, Tom?" She asked, plainly, not a trace of anger or frustration in her voice. Just mainly curiosity and that damn patience. "After you stuck a dagger in my gut?"

Tom hissed again, as he remembered the way she'd sliced herself. The pulsing in his abdomen came back, unwelcomed and amazing.

She folded her arms, waiting for an answer.

He didn't actually have an answer, so he just snapped, "It's Riddle to you."

She smiled again, and unfolded her arms. "I thought so." She swiftly picked up her things in one fluid motion, and skipped towards him. She was still smiling when she kissed him gently on the cheek, and turned to skip out of the Library.

Tom stared after her, watching the strange little girl prance from his presence.

Not long after the echo of the door closing faded out, he reached up to touch the cheek on which she'd kissed him with the tips of his fingers.

He had a feeling, for as long as he lived, he would not forget that moment.

* * *

Tom followed her to the dungeons not shortly after, but she was already gone. Turned all the corners and passed the portrait. She was already in her Dormitory.

He would have liked to try again that night. To try again to kill her. But the boys aren't allowed in the girl's dormitory's. There was some sort of spell that triggered an alarm if you tried to get up their staircase.

He would have to go to bed and sleep on it, and do it in the morning, before breakfast. And this time, she would not come back.

He stayed up all that night, flipping through books and bits of parchment he'd gathered from the Library; trying to research on how to turn a Muggle dagger Wizard. It wasn't as complicated as Granger had made it sound in the Library. But she tends to do that when she speaks. Quickly and annunciated, making you confused.

But he finally did it. Five spells later and one counter-spell after getting one wrong, his dagger was ready. He'd tested it out on himself, and found it was very difficult to heal up. He had to try three attempts before the wound closed up. Then he had a mess on his bedcovers that he needed to cover up.

That morning, he got up one hour earlier than everyone else, and sat up waiting for Hermione in the common room. She was among the first girls to come down the staircase.

But when she sauntered down the staircase, looking just as beautiful as ever, smiling at him widely and greeted him with a cheerful, "Hey, Tom," for the sake of company, he found he couldn't bring himself to do it.

What was wrong with him? All it was, was one little twist in the right place, one little slice of a couple of arteries and she would be dead. It wasn't difficult. In fact, it was particularly easy. So why couldn't he do it?

His suddenly cold feet startled him, and he turned to dash back to his dorms.

But Hermione saw the flash of the dagger before he was able to stuff it into his robes, and fright washed over her.

Hadn't she tamed him last night? Showed him that it meant nothing to kill? What was different? What did she do to him to make him want to murder her? Even if this was future Voldemort, she knew he wasn't fully there yet. He still had something nice about him. That's why he looked so sickeningly sweet dumbstruck when she'd kissed him last night. Even if it was only on the cheek.

No... She could not allow this to happen.

To her, there were two different Toms. The Tom in her past, but his future. The Voldemort to come, who murdered everyone she'd cared for and slaughtered innocent people. But there was the other Tom. The sixteen year old Tom she knew now. The sweet, charismatic, handsome, sarcastic Tom that had blushed when she's brushed his cheek with her lips last night. He was _her _Tom. And some silly little obsession wasn't going to make him anything otherwise.

* * *

"Now, I notice, many of you hadn't mastered this potion yet, and you will need to practice it for your NEWTs. So, please try again, people. Instructions and ingredients on the board."

Potions again. Making Love Potion. Again.

This was probably Tom's worst subject. He was awful at Potions. Eileen was always the better in the whole class, even after Hermione had came into it.

She did exactly the same as before. Quickly and effortlessly, perfectly. Her potion smelt of nothing to him, of course. But she would sniff it every so often and he would see how pathetic this potion actually was.

He made his a little better now, copying Hermione, not lazily or sloppily splashing or stirring the wrong way. He was careful, and after a while his potion began to turn a soft shade of lilac like Hermione's.

Hermione suddenly sniffed up. "Wow, Riddle. That smells great." She beamed, shuffling closer to smell his potion again.

Tom shrugged. "I wouldn't know, would I?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't think you're trying, Tom. You have to _want_ to smell it."

Tom snorted. "Why on Earth would I want to smell an odourless concoction?!"

"It's not odourless, Tom!" Hermione shouted, frustrated now. It actually made Tom feel a little better. He hated it when she was always so understanding. "It smells different to every person! And you WILL smell it. If you _try_..."

Hermione's voice trailed off in his ears as a sudden smell wafted slowly through his nostrils. It was a smell he'd only ever smelt once before in his life, and he was dumbstruck to realise the smell was coming from _his _potion.

For he could smell lemon.

* * *

_N/A: Hey! So how's it so far? :) Are you enjoying it?? Please review to let me know! :D_

_I'm sorry about such a grotesque description of Hermione's bleeding and what Tom wanted to do to it, but I figured that's how Tom would feel about it._

_And can you remember where the lemon was from? ;)_

_Love you all! 3_

_Kelly xxx_

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	7. Bloodlust

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

**WARNING: Illegal drug preferences and a mature physical scene.**

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Tom sighed into the eerie silence of the deserted common room. The only sound apart from Tom's shallow breathing was the crackling of the green flames in the fire, and against the stillness of everything else, they bounced off the walls and echoed in his ears as though someone was screaming into them.

He appreciated them to some extent. They interrupted his thoughts.

What the hell was he thinking? This was _Granger_! The very girl up until today he'd been insanely jealous of. The very girl he'd tried to kill. _Twice_. And now he found that he was beginning to get a _crush _on her!

Not cool.

It's not like he hadn't thought of her that way before, though. Of course he had. Any heterosexual man would have by now. She was gorgeous. That was easy to see. The beauty radiated off her from miles away, screaming to be noticed. Forming a glowing halo around her body, which was just every bit as stunning as her face. Her long legs, her slim waist, her curvy hips–

Oh, dear, _God_!

Damn rancid thoughts _GET OUT OF THERE_!!!

He closed his eyes in exasperation and let the cool heat from the fire exude with his skin. Hermione wouldn't seem to leave him be, and he groaned in defeat and he collapsed backwards and fell onto the leather sofa, his hands over his face.

Though he didn't have much time to wallow, or let the face of the beautiful woman he was falling for enclose his mind, because an oh-too familiar voice came quietly from behind him.

"Tom?" It whispered. No, not whispered. Sang. It sang to him like a sweet symphony. It was amazing.

And so wrong.

He did not answer, only froze – still as a statue. Maybe if she thought he'd fell asleep she'd leave him be. It seemed like an irritating lifetime before Hermione spoke again.

"Tom." She said again; louder, firmer. He heard her soft footsteps on the tiled floor growing closer, closer. His eyebrows knit in frustration and his nose wrinkled against his clammy fingers. She was finally next to him now, and he felt the sofa sink slightly as she rested on it beside him.

He screamed inside his head. He yelled heavenwards, the crease between his eyes beginning to get painful. He shouted – and begged – to God (if there was one; but at this moment, he highly doubted it was God looking over him now – more like the devil) that she would not touch him. Not even shuffle her position on the sofa. Because he knew the slightest interaction would push him under. Even if she as much so grazed his arm with the tips of his fingers, he would fall. Fall head over heels.

And Tom Riddle did not fall for women.

Especially not know-it-all, irritating, gorgeous, amazing girls like Granger.

Oh, Tom, _please_. Not _now_!

She sighed, and the sound was like a million magic wind-chimes blowing in the breeze. He wished for the enchanting sound to utter again, but nothing came but a whisper so low it was barely audible.

"Tom, I know about the Chamber."

She'd said it quickly. As though she'd regret it if she gave up, but also that she'd needed to say it, like it was really very important.

It took him a few moments to process the exact words she'd whispered. He pieced them together – letter by letter, syllable by syllable, word by word until they formed a sentence.

If she hadn't been regretting it then, she would now.

Tom flew up from the sofa, jostling it so hard Hermione had to grip one of the arms so she did not wobble from it. He was strong for someone so skinny.

He turned away from her, looking down into the green flames of the fire, tugging angrily at the soft curls on his head.

Was there anything that girl didn't know?! Did she have some sort of a death wish?? Did she _want _Tom to murder her?! Out of pure jealousy and anger! Because she was really pushing him, seriously close to the edge! One more nudge and he would fall, dragging her with him – even if it meant by the end of a knife.

Tom pictured it again. The erotic image that filled his best of dreams, the moment he held her limp, pale, lifeless body in his arms. Finally silent. Finally still. Finally _his_.

He shook it away. He didn't need that right now.

What did he love more? The beautiful woman sat inches behind him, nervously adorable, clever and full of life – wild hair and all. Or the just as gorgeous, snow-white corpse he pictured every night – even fantasized about kissing away the drops of blood falling from her parted lips. He had to come to a choice. And whichever it would not be good for him. Is that what she was? The unhealthy drug he needed his fix of? Was she his heroin? Or his cocaine?

Whichever – or whatever – she was to him; he needed her quick, fast. And he needed her _now_.

Right now. Right here. In this common room. Cold and silent, deserted. To hold her in his arms, have her sigh his name as her last words, before he took her gently and ran the dagger across her throat.

His fix. His satisfaction. Her last day.

This was it.

He took a few deep breathes before he slowly turned to face her, his face composed. She looked so small beneath him, almost curled up into herself on the sofa, a wary – slightly confused; maybe even frightened – expression smearing her face.

Tom chose his words carefully. "And what Chamber would that be?"

She answered without hesitation, without doubt. "Salazar Slytherin's. The Chamber of Secret's located in the girl's bathroom. You're his air, and you've come to finish what he could not. To wipe out all the Muggle-borns in this school."

Tom sucked in his breath and poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. She was intriguing, he'd give her that. Such knowledge should not be known by an annoying girl like her, but he couldn't help but wonder why.

The words left his mouth before his brain could process them. "How do you know?"

He was actually surprised at how calm she was answering, and so was she, to be honest. "I am from the future, Tom. Fifty five years ago to be exact. I used to be a student at Hogwarts School. Well, I suppose I still am. But I mean back then, before it got destroyed."

Tom swallowed.

"Before everyone in it perished."

Tom couldn't imagine Hogwarts ruined to the ground. Hogwarts was his home, more so than that scruff of an orphanage he was forced to remain in. He was suddenly very aware of his heart, and he was sure it was in his throat.

"I was being held captive at a secret base for these people... these... _attackers_," She eyed Tom sceptically, "who called themselves the _Death Eaters_."

Tom stiffened. Once or twice he'd thought of that name. He thought it might make a good name for a band, or some sort of gang – a cult. But with the tremor of fear that shook Hermione's voice when she'd said it, he wasn't so sure.

"Along with my two best friends. They tortured us every day, for more information. See, we were included in an army to fight against these Death Eaters, called The Order of The Phoenix. And they wanted all the information they could get about it. But soon there was nothing left to tell them, and they continued to torture us for their own satisfaction, to watch us slowly – painfully – die."

Tom swallowed again, at a lost cause. He could relate to these people. These Death Eaters. If he was in their situation, someone's life in his hands, he probably wouldn't be able to stop.

"After a while, we heard them talking, celebrating, you could say. Apparently everyone in the Order had died, and everyone who had ever attended Hogwarts had been either murdered or captured. Teachers, children, parents, everyone. Everyone was dead. In the space of eleven months."

Tom needed to focus his breathing. In and out, in and out. If she noticed the way his ribcage was rapidly pulsing, she would have thought his heart was bursting from his chest.

Because he could see it. He could see everything. Clear and defined, as though he was watching a replay of an old memory. He could see everyone dying, screaming, running terrified on the streets. He could see dead bodies and corpses along the floor, making running people trip – easier prey.

"Of course, you'd seen them kill my friends. Inside my mind."

Tom's focus switched back to her, and he saw that she was looking directly at him, cringing. Almost as though it pained her to do so. There were tears springing lightly in her eyes, but her determination to not let him see her cry was obvious; radiating from her almost as much as her beauty.

"I'm sorry about that." Tom heard a stranger with his exact voice say. "I didn't know what I was thinking. It was utterly inexcusable, and I hope you can forgive me."

It had taken them both aback, this stranger. Apologising?

Hermione merely nodded, and continued with her story. "They killed them both. One room away from me. They'd left me for last, allowing me to hear them both die. Harry and Ron, my best friends."

Tom wasn't sure whether she was talking to him or more to herself, now.

"Until a Death Eater – an old Professor that used to work at the school – came to me. He was supposed to take me to them, but he wavered and quickly gave me this."

She reached into her pyjama top and pulled out a long, bronze chain that slinked around her neck like a thin serpent. On the end of it hung an hourglass, tiny and sealed inside a ring. It seemed insignificant to him, and to think that it saved her life and brought her here – _brought her to him_ – was fascinating.

"I used it to go back in time and I came here. Just one day before I met you, Tom." She said, and then she neatly, almost businesslike, tucked the necklace back into her shirt. "Do you know what it is?"

That question he could answer with minimal difficulty. "It's a Time Turner."

Hermione nodded once and crossed her legs on the sofa. "Do you want to know who the man was that was in charge of all this? Who gave the Death Eaters orders and slaughtered millions?"

Tom hesitated. Did he want to know? Why did she think it was important to tell him? Did he know this man? Would he in his future?

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione pressed on, quickly, quietly, painfully. "His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Of all the things to think of, of all the things to say, Tom's shocked mouth opened and said, "_Was_?"

Hermione sighed. "Well... He never really stopped being Tom Riddle. But he changed his name."

"Because he didn't want to keep his Muggle father's name." Tom had spoken this last at the same moment as Hermione, hers more informative, his more amazed.

This man was him. The man that had killed everyone Hermione had ever known. Killed her best friends, tortured them day in day out. He had stood there, with them, in her memory. Just a room away from his future self, inflicting pain on them for pleasure.

Is that what he became? Powerful enough to bring down even Hogwarts itself?

Electricity pulsed through his veins and into his heart.

"He changed his name to something else. Something much darker. Something his original name formed an anagram of."

Tom's mind clicked back to that first potions lesson, when she'd first mentioned an anagram. He hadn't had a clue what she was talking about at the time, but things were finally beginning to make more sense to him now.

"_Tom Marvolo Riddle_," Hermione whispered into dead air, obviously a million miles away, "_I am Lord Voldemort_."

Hmm... _Voldemort_. _Lord_. It seemed so... commanding. As though it demanded authority.

That was so him.

Tom blinked down at her now, a million and one questions flicking to and from his mind.

"But..." He choked out, after Hermione's chocolate eyes had locked onto his grey, "..._why_?"

Hermione's composure faltered just a little bit. "Why what?"

"Why did I turn out like that?"

Hermione didn't answer, only shook her head. She honestly did not know the answer, and she knew in the core of her existence that she had partly come to the past to figure that out for herself.

Tom sighed, and slowly slinked onto the sofa beside her, stiff and uncertain, staring mindlessly back into the fire. His mind ticked over like a too-tightly-wound clock. Tick tocking too fast, its arms spinning around its face unnaturally fast. It suddenly makes you wonder if time was like that, how short it would really be.

Then his brain snapped suddenly back to perspective.

Hermione's life would be cut short tonight. Too short. Only sixteen years of life. It was almost pitiful.

As though the clock had shifted into place in Hermione's mind, too, she stood up in front of him, her arms folded and her face straight. "You want to kill me." She'd said it as more if a state of fact than a question.

Tom stood up too and answered coolly, looking her straight in the eyes. "Yes."

She drew out a long sigh of breath that she didn't know she was holding.

"I knew it was obvious. Seeing as you'd attempted to before. But I saw you this morning, attempting to do it again." She paused, and took a deep inhale through her nose, "Because I am a Muggle-born."

The words washed over him too late. This infuriated him more than it shocked him. "You're... You're a Mudblood." He said coldly, as though a correction, although his head was screaming it as a question.

"Yes." Hermione agreed, timidly nodding, as the determination rose to her throat. "But you won't."

"Won't what?" He asked impatiently, composing himself again.

"Kill me. You won't do it, will you?"

He continued to give Hermione his cold eyed stare, with his face expressionless and his hands in his pockets. He scanned her face with anticipation. He could tell she was filled with anxiety. Her chest was rising and falling in uneven amounts, her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was open slightly to form a small '_o_'. Her huge chocolate eyes were shining with the tears she never shed, and her hair seemed fluffier than ever, after resting her head on the armchair she had been sat in. It formed a brown halo around her perfect face. She really was beautiful.

It seemed like a lifetime before Tom spoke again.

"...No."

Hermione sighed again, and folded her arms. Her voice came out a little shakier than normal, "Why?"

Tom would have loved to have answer. He seriously would have loved to. But he couldn't. He didn't _know _why. That's what he has been trying to figure out. And, seeing her like this, panting and gorgeous in her pyjamas, he didn't want to know why. He wanted to take her, hold her, kiss her, feel her... _love _her like another man would.

But, along with this desire to love her, came the desire to see her dead.

And he had an idea.

He smirked at her, and slowly took a step forward, and another, and another. Unhurriedly closing the space between them, and Hermione seemed rooted to the spot.

When Tom got up close to her, he towered over her, and she had to crane back her neck to look up at him. They were inches away now, and their chests were almost touching. Hermione's rapid breathing sped up, and Tom's careful, deep breaths, were out of sync with hers. It was terribly erotic.

He _liked _this closeness. He _liked _how she reacted at the seductive smile tugging on his lips. He _liked _the way her panting breath brushed his neck and a little of his exposed collar.

"I don't know why," He whispered, looking her meaningfully in the eyes and taking his hands from his pockets, to take her forearms in his hands.

Hermione tensed, and Tom smiled again. A genuine, sexy smile.

He slowly leant down, and as his lips brushed hers, her eyes fluttered shut, and she kissed him back ever so slightly.

Teasing. That's what it was. On both cases.

As Tom began to deepen the kiss, Hermione unfolded her arms and kissed him back passionately. Tom's hands slid up her arms and to her neck, and he opened his mouth just a little more as he kissed her.

He was just below her chin, and was about to grasp her neck and squeeze the air from her lungs, but Hermione's gentle touch stopped him.

She put her hands on his chest so carefully; it was as though he was made of china. Never before had he been touched so softly, so tenderly it was like he might break. It sent shivers down his spine, and before he knew what was happening, the kiss deepened itself, the tongues came out and danced, and his fingers buried themselves deep into her hair.

His hands were lost between the thick, toffee tendrils curling around his fingers, and her hands slid up his chest, up to his face and around his neck. She pulled him closer, so their chests were touching.

Tom could feel Hermione's heart beating against his own. It was fast and excited, and it sent a vibration of some sort through his body, that he felt the need to have her closer – _closer_.

Hermione felt Tom's fingers around the back of her head, gently urging her mouth to come deeper into his, and she ran her fingers through his gorgeous dark hair.

Tom's body felt the electricity Hermione felt, and suddenly, it was like they were _one_. All thoughts of killing her were gone, and he just wanted to _love_ her. Love her like there was no tomorrow. Love her so much that she would forget her own name by morning. And Tom did not doubt that possibility.

Tom forgot about her hair and dropped his hands to her waist, where he grasped her and held her to him as close as she would go. _But it wasn_'_t close enough_.

He knew it was wrong of him to do this. There were several possibilities, regrets and/or consequences coming from this situation. One; he was using her. That's basically what it was. He did not love her – he merely let his impulse guide him. He was stringing her along, and he knew it. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. As everyone knew, he was quite the gentleman (bloodlust aside), and he would not just use a girl for his own satisfaction. But the more he tried to pull his lips from hers, the more he'd yearn for it, and his grip would tighten. The knot in his stomach would tug and he would obey, more than happily. It was almost as though some kind of invisible force was pulling them together...

Even Hermione knew that this was wrong, on so many levels. There she was, wrapping her arms around the _future Voldemort_ and kissing him with much might her life may depend on it. Her lips seemed to go on their own, with their own will and motor. She could not stop herself. Every time she placed her hands on his chest to push him away, they would venture back round his waist or around his neck. She _wanted _to stop. She _needed _to stop. But... Her body wouldn't let her.

After a while, both their breathing patterns merged to pants, and they were both breathless from the kissing. Hermione surfaced for air, but Tom wanted more.

Without her lips, he exchanged for her neck. He placed small, tender, little kisses from her jaw down her neck to her collarbone, and along her shoulder down just to the hollow of her breasts. He kissed his way just to the side of her neck and began to nibble.

Hermione let out an involuntary moan, and Tom's insides screamed for her, now.

His right hand slid down from her waist to her hips, down her thigh until he was at her knee, and he pulled it up, and bent it round his hip until their pelvis' ground together.

Hermione arched her back ever so slightly just to get him closer, and her arms began to explore his chest again.

He thrust against her once, twice, three times.

Tom couldn't stand it anymore, and planted one last kiss on her lips, before taking both his hands and lifting her against him until her legs where wrapped around his waist. He planted loving kisses all over her face while he took her over to the sofa. First on her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then both her eyelids, then on both her cheeks, then her chin, and then going onto her jaw line and momentarily down her neck until he came back up to plant one on her lips. When he kissed her lips she kissed him back with such a force Tom almost choked. It took his passion for her a second to resurface and when it did it was as though the whole of time and space stopped just for them.

"Tom!"

It seemed all blurry, and showered in kisses. Hands went all over and the cold leather of the sofa reacted pleasantly against their hot skin.

"Granger..."

Hermione was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"_Tom_!!"

Once they finally came together, nothing in the world could have persuaded him to stop.

"_Granger_!"

It was like his second haven, and he forgot everything.

"Oh, Tom..."

Everything about the Chamber, everything about living for always. Everything about potions and damn Arthimancy, and everything about wanting this girl's lifeless body held in his arms.

"...Granger."

Because right now her body most alive was phenomenal.

Just at the point where they were both finding their breathing begin to hurt, Tom slowed down a little, and became a little more tender.

He lay against her, smoothing down her arms and thighs, gently caressing her face and cradling her head as he kissed her. Soft and patient, and she still needed to come up for air.

Her hands were in his soft, thick hair, and he realised kissing might be too much for her.

So he went back to her neck, and when she tilted her jaw up for him to gain better access, her back arched, too, and her bare chest pressed onto his.

Moans escaped lips and groans shook souls, and the tear drops sparkled on Hermione's cheeks like crystals in the daylight, and he knew that was enough for her.

He stopped, and gently stood up, careful not to jolt her, and picked her up again so she was pressed up against him. She recognised what he was trying to do, and held him tightly with her arms and legs.

"No, Tom," She begged, so breathless it was a whisper.

Tom knew what she was asking him for, but couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. As much as he wanted it, the bubbling rage began to boil inside the pit of his stomach, and he knew it would be a risk for them both if he was with her again.

"Hermione," He whispered back, kissing her temple and resting his chin on her forehead as he took her up the stairs to his room in the Head Boy's wing just outside the Common Room.

Hermione said no more, and sighed in content as she closed her eyes and let her head flop on Tom's shoulder. She didn't want to ruin this moment.

For it was the first time he'd ever called her '_Hermione_'.

* * *

_N/A: Hey, guys, so what you think? :) This long chapter is to make up for all the short ones I've put up._

_I realize it was way to early for them to excel to that extent of a "relationship" but I needed to show some passion, merged with a sickening need for death and their love for each other coming down and crushing them. And, plus, this really adds to the storyline. ;)_

_I've recently had a review that really hurt my feelings. Really, I appreciate you giving me constructive critisism, but if you don't have anything nice to say about my story, then don't say anything at all. I work really hard on these, and if some people can't understand that then just don't continue reading. I will not change everything just for one person. There are lots of people who like this story despite my mistakes (which I said there would be lots of at the beginning, and I'm working on it) and I love each and every one of you. For the people who think Hermione would be 'traumatised' after being tortured etc. then yes, she is, and I'm sorry for that spoiler. Why do you think she had those nightmares and stuff? So please don't come down so hard on me. If you just keep reading, you will understand everything comes together._

_Yes, Tom is half-blood, NOT a Muggleborn. But in Tom's eyes, he sees himself as "filthy" because of his father. And, he IS head boy in this story. So thankyou for pointing that out, 'MISSA'._

_Hate to name and shame but I had no choice, seeing as it won't let you reply to reviews unless the person has a fanfiction account. :(  
_

_Kelly xxx_


	8. Heartbreak

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.**

**WARNING: Illegal drug preferences and mild language.**

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* * *

  
**

You can never un-think an idea.

It's true. Once you think of something huge, you can't just push it from your mind as though it didn't matter. Like a secret, maybe even if that secret wasn't yours to share. But you can't un-think it. You can't just snap your fingers and forget about it.

And that's what it was like for Tom. No matter how much he tried to push the memories away, Hermione kept propping up. In every single situation. He even tried to think of that freaking orphanage just to get her out of his mind. But she crept her way back in, and he was then watching a re-enactment of that night. Holding her in _his_ arms, sighing _his_ name–

"Tom!"

His head snapped up so quickly it hurt his neck.

"What?!" He snarled with a sneer to no one in particular. Until his eyes focused, and Ryker was stood in front of him, glaring at him with a disgusted expression.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you man?! Are you on crack or something? Get your arse down here so I can kick it for God's sake!"

Tom snorted from the back of his throat. "You won't catch me stepping a foot on that pitch even if you fell over and begged me."

Ryker was talking about Quidditch – Quidditch practice. It was the 6th year's free time, and Ryker and Jackson wanted to get in some early games before the big match in a few weeks time. As if Tom would care for that when he had much more important things to do and to think about.

Ryker snarled at him, much like an oversized animal. "Either you get down there _now_, Riddle, or I force you."

Tom raised one single slender eyebrow. "Feel free, _Jock_."

Ryker knit his eyebrows so hard the wrinkles on his nose fell beneath his eyes, and he opened his mouth wide to shout something in response, but Jackson glided to the ground in between them both on his broom, hovering inches from the ground.

"Come on, guys. Is this really how you want to start the day? Rye, you can't force him, man. And, Riddle," Tom looked away when Jackson glanced at him, "don't loiter the pitch if you're not gonna join us."

Tom growled between his teeth and turned without a second glance to either of them. As he stalked from the pitch, the last thing he heard was the sound of broomsticks taking off, and Ryker's booming cheer float in the air.

* * *

"Mione, where did you disappear to last night?" Eileen asked curiously, peering at Hermione from beneath her fringe.

Hermione could barely contain her smile. She shrugged it off and turned away so Eileen wouldn't see her flaming cheeks. "Nowhere in particular. I hung around at the Library to do a little extra studying. Why?"

Eileen made a strange little humming noise, and she sniffed and stuck her nose back into the book she was reading. Hermione sighed and lolled back against the armchair she was rested in. She closed her eyes and let the night before wash over her. The way Tom was so gentle with her, the way his chest vibrated through her body, the way his hands had been so soft against her skin...

...the way he'd said her name before they went to sleep.

She'd woken up that morning lying flat against his pillows, feeling more comfortable than she'd ever felt in her entire life. But there was an odd coldness on her left side, and when she turned over she realised why. Tom was already gone, and the sun was beaming in through the window. It must have been at least nine o' clock and everyone would have been wondering where she was. So she got up and quickly changed – embarrassingly unable to locate her underwear, so she went to her dorm to find some more. Thankfully, everyone had left for breakfast.

As if Eileen had read her thoughts, she asked, "And what about this morning?"

Hermione didn't even bother to open her eyes to answer her. "I woke up early. Another nightmare."

Now that was a total lie. Last night was probably the only night in about a year when her dreams had been totally nightmare free, and she slept in peace.

Eileen did not press on, just continued reading.

Hermione sighed again and relaxed a little more. Soon, she found herself nodding off, but was awoken with a start as someone entered the common room. She shot up straight in the armchair and turned to see who had disturbed her.

It was Tom.

He looked paler than ever, and was staring right at her with his cold grey eyes. But there was something more than arrogance in them now when he gazed at Hermione. It looked closer to fear than it did anything else.

Hermione slowly stood up, concerned, but smiled just the same. Tom did not return the friendly gesture, only flared his nostrils and opened his eyes wider.

"Hey, you..." Hermione breathed, hoping to break the ice. But Tom shook his head vigorously, narrowed his eyes at her and pursed his lips into a sharp thin line, before navigating past her and barging his way between Hermione and the chair.

Hermione turned to watch him walk out, but only hurt her heart even more.

He regretted it, of course he did. He'd let his guard down, and she knew it. So had she, to be honest. But at least she was being an adult about it. He was being childish and silly, and even she could push past that awkward phase.

What was wrong with a little intimacy? Is that what Voldemort had lacked in his past life? Love? Lust?

Hermione sniffed to stifle the tears, but it only made it worse. Eileen slowly closed her book, staring right at her. She'd witnessed the whole thing since Tom had came in, and Hermione had almost forgotten she was there. "Hermione?" She asked, carefully.

Hermione was still turned away from her, but she discretely wiped away the tears and put on a fake tone of enthusiasm. "I'm fine, Eileen, really." But when her nose began to tingle, she quickly added, backing away towards the dorms, "I'm just going to go powder my nose. I'll be right back."

And she dashed up those stairs faster than a race-horse on Prozac.

* * *

You want to know the most annoying thing in the world? That damn lemon. That stupid, sadistic, idiotic, silly _freaking _lemon scent! No seriously, what the hell was wrong with that thing?! It just swirled into Tom's nostrils and burnt his nose from the inside out.

He had to keep reminding himself who he was, that's how far gone he was. He was Tom Riddle. He couldn't just change his ways for the sake of Granger. She was just one pathetic little witch. A Mudblood witch not worthy of his time. Once he'd rein power, the women would bow down to him as though he was made of Love Potion itself.

That damn Love Potion. Hadn't they practiced it enough already?! Hermione had already mastered her back to front, inside out. Couldn't they move _on _now?

Maybe there was some kind of potion that acts like a bleach. Because that's all he could think of doing right now. Taking a tub of bleach and pouring it into his brain just to rid himself of those images of Hermione.

He did not regret that night one little bit. But what he did regret was keeping his eyes open. Damn it, why couldn't he have just closed them?! That's what eyelids are made for! _To keep your eyes closed_,God damit!

"Yo! Sleeping beauty! Wake up would ya, Riddle? I don't have time for this."

Tom rocked in his bed and he realised someone was shaking him awake. He sat up quickly. It was Jackson. What did _he _want?

He shook his head at Riddle and snickered. "Man, if you're gunna have dreams about your lady, could you put them on mute? That'd be really helpful."

All the other boys in the dormitory laughed. It was then when Tom remembered why he preferred to sleep in his own private Head Boy dorm than the public one. The privacy. But he'd take a little nosiness any day over the scent of Hermione still on his pillow. The last he needed was to straddle his bed cover because it smelt like her. Her and her damn lemon.

Tom shook his head. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

He heard Ryker yell from the other side of the room. "Having dirty fantasies about your girlfriend, Riddle? Too bad it's never gunna happen. According to Eileen you hurt her pretty bad yesterday. And all you did was look at her! Poor girl, she must have seen your face. Man, you look a mess."

Tom got angry then. He stood up from his bed and gathered his robes from the desk beside it. "Granger is _not _my girlfriend!" He growled through gritted teeth, inching towards the door. "She's a filthy, obsessed little Mudblood and she deserves to rot in hell!"

He slammed the door behind him to quickly it was inches away from his face. He immediately cursed himself to calling her names like that out loud. It was enough to hear them in his head, but to say them from his lips…

God. She really was going to be the death of him. Yes she was.

He'd planned to go to his private room. He'd intended to tough it out, be a man. But as soon as he touched the doorknob to turn it and walk in, his mind burned of images of that night. He turned mournfully to the sofa in the middle of the tiled floor. He remembered stepping up and taking her in his arms. Walking up those steps, ever so carefully. He remembered… He remembered turning the handle, and laying her to rest on his bed. _His_ bed. The bed _he_ slept in. Smelling like Granger. Giving him erotic dreams – almost nightmares – and photographic memory evidence that nothing of that night was a dream.

It was like the idea. And the lemon. Once you smell something you love, your nose is going to want to smell it all the time. Same with your brain. Those memories you love? The ones from your life at its best, or its worse?? Yeah. You can never forget them. And he could never forget her. She was a part of him, now. And not even he could change the past.

Wait…

He closed his eyes and remembered that night. Not the part that makes him want to reach into his chest and rip out his heart, just to mend it up with sticky tape, or pour bleach into his brain, but the part before that. The intimate discussion they'd had. The one they'd had before he ruined everything.

_Hermione had a time_-_turner_.

Oh, this was brilliant!

* * *

Hermione was sleeping when he got to their dorm.

He'd managed to sneak in without triggering anything. He'd stolen a first-year girl's scarf and rung it around his neck, and sprayed perfume onto himself. As weird as that sounds, it worked, so he didn't like to think of it.

It was around her neck when he'd gotten to her bed. It seemed as though she never taken it off since she'd gotten here. He had to carefully use Wingardium Leviosa, but it was worth it when he held it in his palm. It was a little hot when he touched it, but it was powerful. Very powerful, and it surged through his veins. He could barely contain himself.

He'd read about Time-Turners millions of times before, many times wished he owned one. So he had no problem activating it.

He spun the hourglass, once, twice, three, four times, and it spun lightening-fast in its frame.

It happened so fast he hadn't realised what was happening.

His feet landed so hard on the ground his ankles stung. He was in some sort of alley behind a dusty old abandoned shop. The street outside was dirty, old and unused. No one was there, and the oil-lamps on the sides of the streets were barely glowing. In the dim light, he felt engulfed in darkness. He pulled out his wand, and cast lumos, just to make himself feel better.

For a second, he thought he was back outside the orphanage, and began to get angry. But then he heard some shuffling about and hushed voices. They came closer, louder, and he hid himself further into the alley so he was not spotted. Quickly, the voices reached him, only metres away, and he saw the shadows of two people on the road. One female, one male. Definitely wizards, and very clever.

He listened excitedly as they rushed through their conversation.

"But we don't have any of our things!" The male hissed urgently.

"That's not a problem, I've got them all." The female answered, impatiently – her mind obviously occupied someplace else.

"Where? You have one bag and that could barely hold a wallet."

The female huffed irritably, and clearly rummaged around something, whispering some kind of casting spell. The male _ahh_-ed in an awed manner, and they continued walking towards Tom. He held his breath.

"So we're going to Godric's Hollow?" The male asked, clearly trying to find some sort of conversation.

"Yes," the female answered, "But first I want to make a little stop at Bathilda Bagshot's house."

"What?! I've told you before, that woman is crazy! You heard what Dumbledore said, Hermione! We're not to go there!"

Tom's heart jumped into his mouth. Did he just say Hermione?

Tom glanced back to the shadows, and he crept just a little more against the wall. He peered out, and saw the woman's shadow urgently stomping up the road. And, he was sorry to say, she had wild, frizzy hair.

"Harry, stop it! She's no more harmful than you or I!"

Yep. Definitely Granger.

Without thinking, without warning, without even stopping to tell himself how stupid he was, he stepped out from the alley and dead in front of them both.

Hermione was ahead, and therefore inches away from Tom. She stopped dead and stepped two paces back.

The male – Harry – caught her in her trip by her shoulders, and rubbed them assuringly as she backed up into him for comfort.

Red-hot jealousy bubbled in Tom's stomach.

To say Harry's expressed towards Tom was angry would have been a major understatement. He was livid, furious, almost as red fuming as Tom was himself. The steam was practically spilling from his ears. Then Tom remembered, and cursed his stupidity once more.

_He _was Voldemort. _He_ was the one killing everyone…

And he'd just stepped out in front of his mortal enemy.

Hermione could sense Harry's anger before Tom had been able to put on a smug expression back, just to annoy him. She turned to him, and when he looked at her, his eyes softened up. It was clearly obvious there was some sort of forbidden love affair going on between them, and it sickened Tom to his stomach.

_No wonder he killed this boy_'_s freaking parents_.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, and Tom recognised it as the tone she'd used on him that night in the common room. It was sure proof that there was something going on between them. Maybe even more than lovers. Perhaps actually _in _love. Love that had to be postponed, prohibited. A snarl threatened to rip from Tom's throat, but he kept it in control. "Harry, don't do anything you'll regret. This boy is clearly not Voldemort. I understand that you acted on a snap judgement–,"

"He just looks so much like him, Hermione." Harry told her painfully, never taking his eyes from Tom. His hands were shaking with fury on Hermione's upper arms, and Tom was frightened – for one split second – that Harry may hurt her. But she showed no signs of pain, and Tom was angry at her.

He hated himself. Why must he always know everything? What's wrong with a little mystery? He may have ruined everything this world has ever given him, because of curiosity and plain nosiness. He couldn't have it both ways.

"He looks so much like Tom Riddle. From the diary…" Harry sighed into himself and closed his eyes. Hermione pulled him closer and let his forehead rest on hers. "…I got so angry."

"I know, Harry. I know." Hermione glanced at Tom over the top of her brow, and her eyes lingered on his for more than a second.

She looked weaker. More worn out. Different. The bags beneath her eyes were darker than when she'd first came to the castle, and her cheekbones stuck out of her flesh like there was nothing there but bone. Her lips were thin, and cracked – bleeding. He had the strongest urge to rip Potter from her and take her in his own arms, to hold her tightly against his chest, to assure her that everything was fine, that he would take care of her, and that he cared for her.

He very nearly reached out for them, too, but Harry pulled away and they both took their original positions. Harry's expression was apologetic, and Hermione smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry for that misunderstanding. But, the war really is getting to us. Please, if it's not too much trouble, could you please not tell anyone you saw us? But if you're afraid you might, or the Death Eaters may torture you for the information, I could cast a memory charm on you, if you like? Don't worry, I'm a graduated straight-O student."

Tom smiled warmly back. Before he could stop himself, his mouth was moving…

"Do you not know me but at all, Granger?"

Hermione's brows furrowed and Harry's expression relaxed. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Tom chuckled, and his brain screamed at him to shut up, but his heart kept his lips going…

"Personally? Not now, but you will. In time. I'm guessing maybe a year and a month away. Generally? I expect you know me and loath me more than anyone else."

Hermione shook her head in confusion. "Wait. I don't understand. Who are you?"

Tom smirked and removed the time-turner from his neck. He held it out towards her. "Here. I'm going to drop this to the floor as I leave. I want you to pick it up and never _ever _take it from your neck. The whole future of the wizarding world depends on it?"

Hermione was too baffled to answer, and Harry was about to demand an explanation, but Tom cut him short, staring meaningfully into Hermione's coffee eyes. "Hermione… Listen to me." His heart broke at the sound of her name coming from his lips, for only the second time in his lifetime. "I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. Within this year, you will be taken hostage. You and your friends." Tom shot a look at Harry, or threw a disgusted one back. "You will be captured by the Death Eaters. They will slowly and slowly torture you into madness, until you are near enough dead. But then they kill you. One by one. And you will be the last to go. You _need_ this. I _want_ you to have this. To make my life better, to stop me becoming the monster I become." They gazed at each other, searching for each other's souls. "Please." Tom's voice was quivering, and Hermione's eyes welled up. He wanted to leave before the tears came in his eyes, too, and he whispered so quietly it was barely audible, "I don't want to kill you, too, Hermione."

With that, and one last glance at her face, he turned the hour glass, and let it go. He didn't know if it fell or not, but he landed painfully on his back, back into the Common Room. He looked around hopefully. Everything looked exactly the same. He looked down at his palm. There was no time turner sitting there. He quickly dashed up the girl's dormitory's and over to Hermione's bed. He carefully checked around her neck.

He sighed in relief, and almost collapsed right there onto the floor.

* * *

_N/A: OK, not such a great ending. :P Or chapter, to be honest, but I just recovered my computer from a virus that infected all my files, and I hope you will stick around for the next update, which is coming soon! :)_

_Any questions, please ask. I'm guessing there'll be loads. XD_

_Love you all! :D_

_Kelly xxx_


	9. The World Works in Mysterious Ways

'_**Cause when the roof caved in and the truth came out,  
I just didn't know where to go.  
But when I become a star we'll be livin' so large,  
I'd do anything for you!  
So tell me girl;  
Mmm whatcha say?  
Mmm that you only meant well?  
But 'course ya did.  
Mmm whatcha say?  
Mmm that it's all for the best?  
Of course it is…**_

**Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline. Song belongs to Jason Derulo (Whatcha Say)©.**

**WARNING: Mild language.**

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**

Tom was dreading breakfast that day.

What if everything had changed?

What if Hermione wasn't… _Hermione _anymore? What if she was some sort of Slytherin bitch who's always all over him all the time? What if she actually wasn't in Slytherin altogether?!

_How could he have been so stupid_!?

Going back in time, to make sure a girl _that went back in time without his advice ANYWAY _would keep him close to heart! She'd explained the story! He knew what happens! What the hell was he doing?! Screwing up the future? The past? The present?

Seems that way.

When I said he was dreading it? Yeah, he was dreading it even more when Headmaster Dippet declared he had some unfortunate news.

"Claire Renee, of third year; Ravenclaw, has unfortunately been… _petrified_."

Tom and Hermione were the only people sat in that hall that knew exactly what that meant. Tom sat up straighter in his seat and Hermione stared at him wide-eyed from the other end of the table.

"She was found the early hours of this morning, in the Library. She was found cardboard-stiff with her glasses and cleaner cloth still in her hands. This indicates that it must have been a lightening-fast thing. If anyone knows anything, anything at all, about this incident, any teacher here will be interested in hearing what you have to say."

He smiled in spite of the situation and shuffled on the spot uncomfortably.

"We aren't exactly sure who," _or what _"caused this, or whether it was an accident or not," _or not_ "but for now, we are recommending you write to your parents and guardians, and try to get home safely as quickly as possible–,"

"NO!"

Tom was on his feet when Hermione looked over to him. His plate was on the floor, smashed to pieces, and his wand was grasped in his bony white fists. His face looked pale, too, as though all the blood had drained from their like red paint. His mouth was curled back over his teeth into a snarl and his grey eyes were wild with the fire that made Hermione's soul cry out to him. His eyebrows were knit so hard it looked as though he only had one.

Dippet looked startled, above all. He looked down at Tom like he was something out of this world.

"I will _not_," Tom exclaimed, angrily through gritted teeth, "go back to that scruff of an orphanage more than a _second _before I have to!"

Dippet shook his head apologetically. "I am sorry, Tom, but you will need to. The safety of the entire school is at stake."

"BUT. I. WILL NOT. GO. BACK THERE!"

Hermione's heart sped up, as Tom's began to have palpitations. His hands hurt at the grasp he was gripping his wand, and the lump rising in his throat was hurting. A lot.

Dippet shook his head in the same manner as before. He got down from the platform he was stood on, and over to Tom. He put his hand on his shoulder, and opened his mouth to speak some words of comfort, but Tom shook him off furiously and stepped back as though he may catch some contagious disease.

"Why touch me?! I'm just a poor orphan boy! Half-blood and disgusting! I'd rather get _killed_ by whatever it is running around this school than go back to that orphanage!"

A siren went off in Hermione's head. _Woop, woop, _it rang, _too much information! Too much information!_

"I'M IN MORE DANGER _THERE_ THAN I EVER COULD BE _HERE_!!!"

With that, Tom stalked past Professor Dippet in a raging rampage, and ripped through the doors and up the staircase. The doors slammed shut behind him like an indignation thunder, and everyone in the hall began whispering.

Hermione gulped.

If her nightmares weren't bad enough, she knew one more thing that would haunt them tonight…

…the sight of Tom's hot tears before he'd left the hall.

* * *

It was quite dark, considering it was almost nine o'clock in the morning. The candles in the hallways didn't make much of a difference. Only added an orange glare to the grey mood clouding overhead like a storm.

Hermione found Tom in an empty potions room. She'd practically searched every possible place he could privately be, and this was her last choice. She'd quietly tip-toed in, and searched for about 5 minutes, before she heard a sniffling coming from the cupboard at the back. She stood still, listening hard, not even daring to breathe. The sniffles came again, followed by pained sobs. Hermione's heart broke, and she quietly made her way over to Tom's hiding place. The door was locked, of course. But it was nothing a little Alohamora couldn't fix. Tom was turned away from her, fingering his wand and hugging his knees – brought up to his chin. He didn't even bother to look who it was. The only effort he made was to close his eyes and tighten his grip on his wand and knees. He began rocking back and forth and how much he reminded her of Harry at that point sickened her to her stomach. But she couldn't focus on herself right now.

She slowly knelt down behind him and gently took him in her arms. He didn't push her away or cower away from her. He just fell into her lap and let her cradle her head and whisper absent assurement into his ear. He knew none of her words were true – she didn't have to go back to the Orphanage. She had no idea what it was like. But the comfort of the lies still helped loosen the knot in his stomach. Not untie it completely, but loosen it.

Tom had stopped weeping long before they broke away. He had just liked to hold her there, to have her hold him, a few tears slipping from her eyes, too. He didn't know why she felt sad for him. Or sorry, even. He needed no remorse. He liked to think of them just as a few unshed tears, that needed to be let out before they over flooded at the most unfortunate of moments.

When they let each other go, they sat kneeling in front of each other, just looking into the other's glassy eyes. This was home for Tom. Hermione. She was his truth, his saviour, his hero, his shelter…

Hermione searched for some unknown specimen in Tom's grey pools. Whatever it was, she never found it. But this wasn't Voldemort sat before her. This was _her _Tom. Intensified by one-hundred times. _Her_ Tom was… well… let's just say butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Hermione," he whispered suddenly, his voice breaking.

She smiled slightly at the use of her forename. "Tom." She whispered back.

Tom shook his head and looked to his knees. "I'm sorry you saw me like this."

Hermione shook her head quickly. "No, Tom. Don't be." Somehow, her brain ticked over for more things to say, things she never would have dreamed of saying before. But her mouth clamped shut, as though all she'd already said was enough.

Tom sniffed again, and Hermione was afraid that he may have been crying again, but he lifted his head and smiled at her. She smiled back absently, half-unaware of what she was doing.

Unexpectedly, Tom reached out to her. He'd already found his object of interest before she'd even registered that he'd moved.

He took her Time-Turner gently from her robes, but never removed it from her neck. He smoothed over the grooves of the metal with his thumb and smiled down at it, as though some sort of beautiful child, or long lost family member. Hermione saw no need in rejecting. He wasn't doing anything worth protesting about. Not yet, anyway.

He sighed and dropped it, and it swung back into Hermione's chest, and she left it to dangle as Tom let it be. He looked back up to her eyes and something other than understanding swam in the chocolate. Something like… hope. It might have been hope. That's what Tom thought it was.

Or maybe it was reflecting from his own eyes onto hers. And he was seeing his own emotions through her eyes.

Is that what that expression really meant?

She was still Hermione. His Hermione. Not some Slytherin bitch, like he'd feared. She seemed to know him like she'd known him before. No details of anything spared. He uttered a silent prayer of thanks to no one in particular.

Hermione spoke before his brain had clicked out from his daydream.

"They beat you at the Orphanage don't they?"

* * *

...

"Tom, you've _got _to tell Professor Dumbledore!"

"He's been there himself. He's seen the children there. And he didn't even raise an eyebrow or ask a single question!"

"I doubt that. Tom, have you _seen _these bruises!? It's just completely outrageous!"

"Not exactly. I tend to avoid looking into a mirror afterwards…"

"THOMAS!"

"WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY, GRANGER?!"

"I want you to take this seriously –,"

"_SERIOUSLY_?! And you think I've just been sitting around drinking Butter Beers this whole time?!"

"No, Tom. That's not what I meant –,"

"Come off it, Granger. You can cut this I-Know-Everything act! If there's one thing you don't know, it's the crap that I go through at that damn orphanage!"

"Judging by these bruises Tom, I get the jist of it!"

"SHUT UP!"

"TOM–,"

"IT'S RIDDLE TO YOU!"

* * *

When a bud blossoms, it becomes a flower. When a petal falls, it drops to the floor. When a leaf trembles, it shakes the whole plant. When the stem snaps, the plant dies.

When a foetus is born, it becomes a baby. When a baby grows, it becomes a toddler. A toddler becomes a child. A child becomes a teenager. A teenager becomes a young adult. A young adult becomes an adult. An adult becomes a pensioner. A pensioner becomes dust.

But what if that wasn't the way things worked? What if the world was completely opposite? What if everyone but him changed in such ways?

It's possible. When one person dies, three more people – somewhere in the world – are born. When a plant dies, the seeds fall, and ten more plants grow.

The world works in mysterious ways. You could take a child from an awful family, and put it with another one, and within a week that child will be dead. You could take the stem of a dead plant, and re-plant it, and within a week, that plant will have grown again. You could take the richest man in the world, and he could be lonely and unhappy. But you could take the poorest man in the world, and he would be happy.

Is there a God? If so, why do the plants die? But if not, why do ten more grow in its place? If so, why do babies die? But if not, why do the people responsible for murder get locked away? If so, why are the rich men selfish – but lonely? But if not, why are the poor men "richer" than anyone else – and happy?

Tom picked up his wand, and stormed out of that cupboard and made his way towards the girl's bathroom…

* * *

_N/A: OK, so I know the ending was a little boring and possibly VERY confusing! XD And I know the subject of the "past/future" changing hasn't been answered yet, but it will do at some point! I promise! :D And I'm SO sorry at how short this is!  
_

_Your reviews = love. _

_You're all amazing! :) I'm so glad you like my story so far, and I'm so happy with all the support you're giving me._

_Please review this one, next update soon!_

_Kelly xxx_


	10. Moaning Mertyl

_**Ok. First off, I'd like to say OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY for leaving this chapter so long, I know it is waaaay overdue and you totally didn't deserve to wait that long and I am so, so sorry!**_

_**

* * *

  
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When Hermione couldn't find Tom later that day, she feared the worst. After their argument, she had no doubt that _her _Tom was being held captive inside the body of Mr Hyde. And the way he'd shunned her before running out, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, a murderous look upon his face – excuse the pun.

She'd searched for him in all the obvious places she'd searched before. Double-backing on herself, but she found nothing. No one had seen him, either. Not even the ghosts. So, she thought outside the box. He couldn't have just disappeared into thin air, or left the grounds. He had nowhere else to go, no family to see, no friends to call upon. He was definitely in the school.

Her brainwave came a little late, but when it came she thought herself a genius. Unfortunately, he wasn't in the Room of Requirement, either.

Damn it, where could he be?!

She sighed and slumped against a wall in a deserted corridor. She gently bumped her head off the brickwork to try to think. To get some sort of idea of _somewhere _he could be!

Suddenly, there was a scream. Oh, not a scream. Just some girl with a very high-pitched voice shouting at someone.

"What on Earth are you doing here?! _Get out_! This is the _girl's _Lavitory–,"

Hermione's legs began running before she'd even processed what had been said. Mertyl. _Moaning Mertyl._

She reached the toilets just in time. When she barged in she saw Tom stood before the sinks, they were slowly opening, and a low hiss emerged from the pit below.

"TOM!" She screamed without thinking, reaching for him. She grabbed the scruff on his collar and pulled him back, away from the entrance to the Chamber. "MERTYL! CLOSE YOUR EYES! DON'T COME OUT FROM THAT CUBICLE!"

"Why?! Who are you? What's going on?! How do you know my name?!"

Hermione didn't have time for this. She continued to drag the struggling Mr Hyde from the room, but it was difficult. Considering how skinny yet tall he was, you would have thought it a piece of cake. Except it wasn't. He was much more built than she was. He continued to struggle, and she continued to persist. She knocked his wand from his hand, and neither of them looked to se where it had landed. Eventually, they made it outside. When Hermione looked up to his livid face, she noticed his eyes were closed. But... The Basilisk wouldn't hurt him, would it? He was its commander – the heir of Slytherin. Then why were his eyes closed?

"Tom," Hermione said gently, carefully letting him go now that he'd stopped struggling. "Tom you can open your eyes now. We're outside, it's OK."

"No!" He snarled, turning to run off, but Hermione grabbed him again. It didn't stop him completely, but it did slow him down.

"Tom!" Hermione pleaded.

He kept twisting his face away from her line of view, his eyes tightly shut. "Let go of me, Mudblood!"

Hermione ignored the white-hot searing pain in her chest and tightened her grip. "Tom, it's _alright_! I'll let you go if you open your eyes!"

"_NO_!" He pushed on, and Hermione was dragged with him. He was frightening her now, but she couldn't pry her fingers from his robes. "Let me _go_!"

With that, he pushed her down – hard – onto the floor, and in a bid to cushion her fall, she let go of his robes. He ran off, without a second glance in her direction.

She lay on the floor, gawking at the empty space he'd left behind him, until her mind clicked back into place. She scrambled up and charged back into the bathroom. Mertyl was still fuming in her cubicle, and the gate the chamber was closed. Hermione sighed with relief, and turned to leave Mertyl screaming unanswered questions to the furniture.

* * *

Why wouldn't he look at her?

That was the one question replaying over and over inside Hermione's head, unable to let her sleep, or stay in content about anything else.

_Why_ wouldn't he look at her?

Was it because of what he'd said? That she was a Mudblood? So in his heat of rage he'd thought it disgusting to even look upon her?

_Why wouldn't he look at her_?

Not even open his eyes? Is that how desperate he was to get away from her? To get away from the bathroom? As if keeping his eyes closed could make a difference anyway??

She sighed into herself and closed her own eyes, trying desperately to get some sweet sleep. Even if it was for 5 minutes or so, she didn't care. If sleep was all she needed to get Tom out of her mind she would do it.

But that was never the case.

For _her _Tom is in her head during the day, but at night, Mr Hyde takes over.

* * *

Tom wasn't at breakfast that morning. Or in lessons that afternoon.

Hermione didn't even see a glimpse of him in the hallways, roaming around like he should as Head Boy. She chuckled a little under her breath. Voldemort? Head Boy? There's a thought.

He was there the next day, though, at breakfast. And it was all Hermione could do to keep hers down.

He looked absolutely dreadful. Almost like death itself. Much more alike to the Voldemort she knew than her 16 year old Tom.

His skin was bone-white, with a tinge of sickening green. The dark circles under his eyes brought out the dull grey irises, making them even more piercing than should be allowed natural. His clothes hung more from his body now than ever before, draping from his arms and legs as though only his head was floating there. And the planes in his cheekbones were so nauseating Romilda had to bury her head in Ryker's chest.

The only thing that seemed normal was his hair, and even that was sporting a grey tinge.

Tom sat down beside them as though nothing was wrong, and everyone clenched their teeth as if every bone in his body could snap on contact with the wood – that's how fragile he looked.

She never thought she could see Tom Riddle – Voldemort – looking so frail. It was tragic.

Overcome with fury at his carefree expression, she waved her wand and suddenly Tom's body blew up like a balloon, filling out his clothes until the point of tearing. His neck and face fattened out until it connected with his chest and stomach, seeming like one huge ball. He didn't float up out of the chair or fly away like Harry's aunt Marge had in third year – Hermione stifled a giggle – but it was close enough.

Eileen covered her mouth with her hand as not to laugh, and Roberta just gazed at him, her mouth open into a crooked smile. Ryker and Jackson were in fits of laughter, high-fived each other, and Jackson pat Hermione on the back.

Tom looked down at himself in disgust, his large fingers and chubby hands displaying to his face. "Granger!" He yelled, snarling at her, "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

By now, everyone in the hall was staring in their direction, but Hermione was too angry with him to let that bother her. She had a point to get across, and boy was it going to cross over, alright.

"This is how I'd prefer you to look, Tom!" She screamed at him, muting the hall into eerie silence. Even Jackson and Ryker had shut up. "Some fat pig who can't seem to stop! Not some lab rat being starved to the point of skeletation!"

At that, the air left Tom's skin with a very amusing noise, like when the air from a balloon escapes. There were some giggles at first, but once they saw what Tom looked like without the blubber, it went silent again.

After about thirty second of nothing but silence, and Hermione glaring into Tom's eyes, there was a gasp and a cry from the other side of the hall behind them. Before they knew what was happening, a Hufflepuff first year girl had ran out, slamming the doors behind her, but everyone still heard the awful retching sound.

Tom didn't seem to notice as he snarled, "I don't see why you're bothering, Granger. You and I both know what I do to you, so you might as well let me die."

Hermione knit her eyes and gaped at Tom like he was a crazy person. "Thomas..." She whispered, unable to come up with anything else to say.

He sneered at her, a sneer worthy of the Malfoy family, or better. "I die inside every time I have to go to that Orphanage, anyway. Why not save everyone the trouble and kill me now? We all know I'm not worthy of life. Some disgusting half-blood sorted into Slytherin house out of nothing but luck–,"

"SHUT UP, RIDDLE! JUST SHUT UP _RIGHT NOW_!"

A sobbing girl looking much like Hermione had just fled the hall, and the stranger with her exact voice left an echo around the hall. But the empty space before Tom had just picked up dust, and she was gone.

* * *

_**N/A: I'm really sorry all over again, guys. And I hope I made it up to you! I love you all soo much, you have no idea!!**_

_**Why not go check out my Harry Potter chatrooms/videos on YouTube? .com/user/xoPinkDarlinxo**_

_**Kelly xxx**_


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